Seventeen years ago you said <br />Something that sounded like Good-bye; <br />And everybody thinks that you are dead, <br />But I. <br /> <br />So I, as I grow stiff and cold <br />To this and that say Good-bye too; <br />And everybody sees that I am old <br />But you. <br /> <br />And one fine morning in a sunny lane <br />Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear <br />That nobody can love their way again <br />While over there <br />You will have smiled, I shall have tossed your hair.<br /><br />Charlotte Mary Mew<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-quoi-bon-dire/
