Francois wedding.

Saint Francis marries Poverty….

Each of them as witnesses chose two apostles;
Job comes to this feast and says, “I am one of you! "
The angels are at the organ, and, among the light,
It is Jesus who officiates at the altar himself.

Very pure poets have come from very far;
Dante leads their choir, which smells of ambrosia;
Each brings a little poetry;
Here is the simple and sweet Verlaine in a corner,
Here is old Tostoi rolling up his sleeves,

Mistral singing its old, disinherited patois;
Ah! the beautiful day… The heavens towards the earth lean…
The bells ring as on Sunday morning;
Ah! the beggars, ah! cold dying … this is Summer! …
Wave bouquets, palms and branches… ..

Saint Francis marries Poverty …

The cicada

“My brothers, listen to our sister, the Cicada….

She is small, she is familiar and frugal;
And, without any vain desire to be seen,
All day long, hanging in the hollow of a black tree,
She sings … But can we say that she sings?
…
But the cicada knows nothing but to repeat
Two notes, don't know anything, my brothers, what to rub
The two membranes of its wings against each other,
Now while the sky on all blondes
Shine and may the sun hold the overwhelmed fields,
She alone, above the wild wheat fields,
While all is silent, things, and beings,
The pines, the olive trees, the roads, the windows,
When nothing has the strength to move anymore,
She alone, humbly, indefatigably,
It makes the air, the sky and the stone resound,
And it looks like she's the sound of light;
Knowing how little she can do and doing it,
She alone, piercing the azure with such an accent
May her prayer reach God above all,
The voice of the furrows that goes to the celestial vaults,
She alone, along the even blue day,
She said, “Praise God! Praise God! Praise God! ……