Bedrieger Junction

Cherries

In a park near your adolescence,
eat ripe cherries
under every fragrance
and dream of happiness, as I once did.

With love scorching my throat,
I set burning words on his trail.
In my complaints, and my praises, too,
a sinister timbre crept.

The moon rose white with fear;
my words crackled in the clouds.
I was afraid for everyone I saw.
How could I shield them from my passion?

On a breeze, smelling of new-turned soil,
a seductive whisper reached me:
Come here, toy of everything you meet,
play with darkness, with roots and stones.

That song I sang, I sing.  
That whisper I heard, I hear.  
Those cherries, those sweet cherries,  
I can't find anywhere.

— Mort Duffy