Dormeur du Val

It’s a green hollow where a river sings
Clinging madly to the grasses with its rags
Of silver, where the sun, from the proud mountain,
Shines; it’s a little valley, bubbling with sunlight.
A young soldier, open-mouthed, bare-headed
And the nape of his neck bathing in cool blue watercress,
Sleeps; he’s stretched out in the grass, under the sky,
Pale in his green bed where the light falls like rain.
His feet in the gladiolas, he sleeps. Smiling as
a sick child would smile, he takes a nap.
Nature, cradle him warmly: he is cold.
No perfume makes his nostrils quiver;
He sleeps in the sun, hand on his chest,
Quiet. There are two red holes on his right side.