To Auson

New Aquitaine, a crystal sky
The tender green of amaranths
A poet who loves Greek stories
Marries the daughter of the consul

And in an estate near Bordeaux
Their flowery graves
Collect the fallen pine cones
The ashes of time invite themselves here

And the wind blows on the manor
In Auson near the Atlantic
The petals of fate
Have inscribed your names in the granite

Lovers of a day, 1700 years have erased
Your smiles during the banquet
And the discreet glance of the poet
Towards a damsel, in secret

Rhetorician, a young Alamanni slave
Served you as an inkwell at nightfall
She copied your manuscripts
And you read history to her

1700 years have passed
Since Auson took the pen
To transcribe your disheveled days
Your graves blacken the land of Aquitaine

And the wind blows on the manor
In Auson near the Atlantic
A vineyard took the taste of earth
Of your flowery romances

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