I sat on a blue armchair in front of a window in front of the garden fence.
I thought maybe then that I just turned older again
It was time to live, to turn over a new leaf,
And to leave.
And the laurel leaves trembled with a breeze.
I had no crown, no glories. I leant my head back into the shade
Of the wall, and I thought maybe then that I just turned old
I may look through a hole to see what my future holds,
Though there was no hole on my wall. What did I aim?
The laurel leaves trembled with a breeze again.
I stood up and moved away from the blue armchair
I thought maybe then I just grew old I should go for a stroll
Through a forthcoming lane and pick up the aimed grain.
And I lived, and turned over a new leaf.
And I left,
And like laurel leaves I shook. Again.