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BREAST CANCER
Life is not poetry, but prose,
My friend is a rose
She told me this morning...
Born at dawn,
Bathed in the dew,
I grew and blossomed,
I was happy with the sun.
But the day was short,
My petals have withered...
But it was only yesterday
She was the most beautiful of all
Flowers in your garden.
Life is not poetry, but prose,
My friend is a rose
She told me this morning...
God sent me youth,
But soon everything took away,
I suffer from melancholy,
Losing petals.
And the light of the sun faded,
And death is not far away,
There is only darkness around now.
Yesterday sometimes during the day
You admired me,
And now I am only dust.
In the embrace of frost
There lies a naked rose,
Dead by morning.
But at night under the moon
Comes to me again
Your rosy image,
My dear flower.
Your soul is full
Both holy and good,
And the angels are with you.
In dreams and in reality
I live in hope,
I am nothing without her.
MARGUERITE DURAS