Homework 28th May:Yet Still I Hope
Posted: Sat May 12, 2018 5:02 pm
Pourtant j'espère toujours (Yet Still I Hope)
The gates of the villa were open, bright sunlight streamed onto the stone;
geraniums poured from the windows - the garden was quite overgrown.
A faded old loveseat sat empty, its red and blue stripes bleached by time,
forlorn in abandoned seclusion, corroded and covered in grime.
Approaching the entrance with caution, uncertain of what I might find,
I took a deep breath to prepare for composure and presence of mind.
The front room lay dappled in sunlight, while dust motes danced wild in the air;
caressing your chain and gold locket, I willed myself not to despair.
How often I’d dreamed of returning! This countryside villa in France
where sunflowers worship the heavens, and wagtails and chaffinches dance;
where bees loudly ravish the hellebores, hover on lavender rows,
and over the door to the kitchen, cascading wisteria flows.
The atmosphere brought such nostalgia – I clutched at the base of the stair
and willed you to call my name softly - yet knew you were no longer there.
Then waiting some moments in stillness, for desolate thoughts to subside,
I finally climbed to the landing, where truth and mirage would collide.
The bedroom was shadowed and empty, devoid of our presence so long;
the memories swamped me in sorrow – were passionate, poignant and strong.
My eyes swept the room in a panic - they always had over the years –
till finally, glimpsing your shadow, I reached out with unashamed tears.
Your smile was so warm and inviting, I basked in its wonder and charms;
the joy of us now reuniting impelled me to run to your arms…
But happiness never persisted—that moment was cruelly so brief—
my hands met the mist of the ages – I fell to the floor in my grief.
I found myself out in the garden, bewildered and aching with pain
at fact of reality proving I’d just been sleepwalking again.
Awake now I stare at the villa, and will myself back to the past,
when so very close were we bonded, before that grim die had been cast.
I still can’t believe our liaison, considered forbidden and wrong;
a French girl in love with a German, who certainly didn’t belong—
supposedly guarding our village, with checkpoints at each wall and gate—
while sizzling beneath and around us, suspicion was nourishing hate.
Yet politics didn’t destroy us – no match for affairs of the heart;
we kept taking risks - to our peril, for one day they tore us apart.
They marched you away one bright morning, while honey bees buzzed unaware,
and sunflowers stood to attention, in ranks as if straining to stare.
The contrast of nature in splendour, to terror and soldier’s disdain—
immune to my screaming and pleading—incongruence tough to explain.
I helplessly watched the Gestapo ferociously tear you away,
while knowing my turn would be coming, yet knew there was nothing to say.
My life has been nothing without you. I yearn for my dreams in the night,
when hope, although fleeting and futile, again has its chance to ignite.
My head says believing is folly, my heart overrules its complaint;
until I see proof of your passing, I shamelessly feel no restraint.
I’ll drive myself into such slumber, indeed to my very last breath,
and ceaselessly haunt that old villa, to meet you in life - or in death,
where birds sing, and droning bees hover on hellebore, lavender, rose,
and sunflowers bloom in profusion, whilst mourning in glorious rows.
© Catherine Lee, May 2018
The gates of the villa were open, bright sunlight streamed onto the stone;
geraniums poured from the windows - the garden was quite overgrown.
A faded old loveseat sat empty, its red and blue stripes bleached by time,
forlorn in abandoned seclusion, corroded and covered in grime.
Approaching the entrance with caution, uncertain of what I might find,
I took a deep breath to prepare for composure and presence of mind.
The front room lay dappled in sunlight, while dust motes danced wild in the air;
caressing your chain and gold locket, I willed myself not to despair.
How often I’d dreamed of returning! This countryside villa in France
where sunflowers worship the heavens, and wagtails and chaffinches dance;
where bees loudly ravish the hellebores, hover on lavender rows,
and over the door to the kitchen, cascading wisteria flows.
The atmosphere brought such nostalgia – I clutched at the base of the stair
and willed you to call my name softly - yet knew you were no longer there.
Then waiting some moments in stillness, for desolate thoughts to subside,
I finally climbed to the landing, where truth and mirage would collide.
The bedroom was shadowed and empty, devoid of our presence so long;
the memories swamped me in sorrow – were passionate, poignant and strong.
My eyes swept the room in a panic - they always had over the years –
till finally, glimpsing your shadow, I reached out with unashamed tears.
Your smile was so warm and inviting, I basked in its wonder and charms;
the joy of us now reuniting impelled me to run to your arms…
But happiness never persisted—that moment was cruelly so brief—
my hands met the mist of the ages – I fell to the floor in my grief.
I found myself out in the garden, bewildered and aching with pain
at fact of reality proving I’d just been sleepwalking again.
Awake now I stare at the villa, and will myself back to the past,
when so very close were we bonded, before that grim die had been cast.
I still can’t believe our liaison, considered forbidden and wrong;
a French girl in love with a German, who certainly didn’t belong—
supposedly guarding our village, with checkpoints at each wall and gate—
while sizzling beneath and around us, suspicion was nourishing hate.
Yet politics didn’t destroy us – no match for affairs of the heart;
we kept taking risks - to our peril, for one day they tore us apart.
They marched you away one bright morning, while honey bees buzzed unaware,
and sunflowers stood to attention, in ranks as if straining to stare.
The contrast of nature in splendour, to terror and soldier’s disdain—
immune to my screaming and pleading—incongruence tough to explain.
I helplessly watched the Gestapo ferociously tear you away,
while knowing my turn would be coming, yet knew there was nothing to say.
My life has been nothing without you. I yearn for my dreams in the night,
when hope, although fleeting and futile, again has its chance to ignite.
My head says believing is folly, my heart overrules its complaint;
until I see proof of your passing, I shamelessly feel no restraint.
I’ll drive myself into such slumber, indeed to my very last breath,
and ceaselessly haunt that old villa, to meet you in life - or in death,
where birds sing, and droning bees hover on hellebore, lavender, rose,
and sunflowers bloom in profusion, whilst mourning in glorious rows.
© Catherine Lee, May 2018
Wen