Here is a river with a little boat
moored beside its bank. The boat's the colour
of oranges in the south of Greece, all bloody
and ripe with sweetness, while the bank's the colour
of meadows in the north of France, deep green
with a heifer's downy mane, a country rose.
Love, I shall never take you to those places.
I've squandered all my gold upon the water,
which for you mirrors the eternal sun.