Walking aimlessly through the city, I came across a paddling pool with fallen leaves gently floating on the surface.
It reminded me of Verlaine’s famous poem, in particular, the last verse:
“Et je m’en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m’emporte
Deçà, delà,
Pareil à la
Feuille morte.”
Rough translation:
“ And I go
Where ill winds blow,
Buffeted
To and fro,
Like a
Dead leaf.”
