rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


So the season bemuses me, and I idle the afternoon away. All those leaves yet to fall will burden the lately greened grass week after week, and I will rake and rake, but now the fallen few are no more than a decoration, best left lying as I enjoy the balmy days. Scamper, squirrels! Squawk, jays! I'll be still and silent, like the afternoon, and like the gray cat napping. Storing up serenity for the winter.

Sunday Verse

The Dunce

by Jacques Prévert

He says no with his head
but his heart says yes
he says yes to what he likes
he says no to the teacher
he is on his feet
to be questioned
to be asked all the problems
suddenly he shakes with uncontrollable mirth
and he rubs them all out
the figures and the words
the dates and the names
the sentences and the traps
and despite the threats from the master
amid the jeers of the child prodigies
with all the colored chalks
upon the miserable blackboard
he draws the face of happiness.

–translated by John Dixon Hunt

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