Does not every season prove
That all leaves hit the ground?
Does not every rocket launch show
That what goes up must come down?
The rope snaps, the pitcher falls,
Trees, men — they rise and decay.
Nothing is endless,
This is what nature teaches us,
Yet, looking at her now, her long hair, her dark eyes– I see no end to my passion for her
She touched me here years ago: my lips still tremble with love of her.
If it is a dream, if it is just a season of my life, let me dream forever, let it stretch on eternally; let this vision stay with me to life’s final flicker.
Issa A. Dioume 