The Promenade - Marc Chagall
Fair Warning
When we walk out in
the morning air,
My thoughts soar high
and away.
I watch the breeze
lift up your hair,
Send collar and coat
tails astray.
You always tether me
close to you,
A soft hand to stroke
and hold.
At first it
comforted, now I rue,
For your clutch seems
far too bold.
I am my own blithe
spirit, sir !
You may not hold me too
close !
For if my soul
becomes a blur,
Or reflection of
yours, at most,
I’ll soar away,
reclaim what’s mine
And leave this love that’s
heady wine.
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