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
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