Return to SÈTE

The white horses of the Camargue

greet you and the fragrant garigue

of wind-swept grasses, the pines

of the “Mas de Suède” also greet you

and the contorted sun-drenched vines

Without you Sète is cloaked in sadness

like the two little donkeys

in the candid photographs

taken in the unpoetic mugginess of a tiring day

Rugged hills greet you

and fields where time is suspended

the hordes of vacationing

multihued tourists greet you

and the serene faces of the locals

at siesta time in the small villages:

it is a continual addressing to you:

where are you why aren’t you here?

without you Sète seems a little sadder