In which we have a poem by Arthur Rimbauld!

Hello everyone! Good evening to you, happy Sunday! How are you today and how are things going? How was your weekend? As usual, I wish you the best and hope you are fine! Please forgive me for once more postponing the post, I had to write yesterday but I had a busy day and arrived at home late and was just tired and couldn't focus on writing. Today took me a while to write as well but anyway I'm here now, and it's great to be here and write to you, dear reader, you are the best! I was thinking on what to write today, and don't know why, decided to post a poem here today! I mean, why not? Specially because I can't think of anything else to write, at least now... I think I'm still a bit tired, maybe a little sad as well... I love to be happy! Anyway, we will have a poem by a very famous poet as I can see when I searched for him! Arthur Rimbauld!

Here you can see his picture! If he sounds young to you, it's because he is, very actually! Receiving an excelent education in his childhood, he started to write in his early teenager years. After some events in his life he passed through some turbulent times and at the age of 17, even recognized as a great poet, he retired from it. He died very young, at the age of 37. Stefan Zweig, an author I like, admired Rimbaud greatly, and even met him, before he died, of course! The poem I'm going to bring today to you guys is a very short one, though enchanting, about a soldier resting in a grassy landscape, or is he resting, well, to find out let's jump to it!

ASLEEP IN THE VALLEY

By Arthur Rimbaud

A small green valley where a slow stream flows

And leaves long strand of silver on the bright

Grass; from the mountaintop stream the Sun's 

Rays; they fill the hollow full of light.

A soldier, very young, lies open-mouthed,

A pillow made of fern beneath his head,

Asleep; stretched in the heavy undergrowth,

Pale in his warm, green, sun-soaked bed.

His feet among the flowers, he sleeps. His smile

Is like an infant's - gentle, without gile.

Ah, nature, keep him warm; he may catch cold.

The humming insects don't disturb his rest;

He sleeps in the sunlight, one hand on his breast;

At peace. In his side there are two red holes.

...

And this is the end of the poem! I find it to be beautiful and yet mysterious, is the soldier really sleeping? Is he dead? Are the two red holes some kind of flower, or bullet holes? What happened to the soldier? Can the poem still be fresh and light if the soldier is possibly dead? Well, I like it! I could feel the wind in my face reading this, though I'd say to the nature not to be warmer, it is too warm where I am! Way too warm, and with this sun, it would be impossible to just lay on the valley, and I bet there are more insects here than in France, just imagine the ants, ew. But honestly who cares, it is a nice moment, and the person seems to be relaxed, at peace, like Marie Antoinette in the Petit Trianon! Anyway, hope you liked this small poem by this surprisingly famous poet, dear reader! Do you like poetry? Do you hate it? What do you think? Do let me know, if you would like to! Either way, thank you so much for being here, like I said before and always say, you are the best! Thank you! See you next time!