© 2007 Jean-Claude Romeuf
© 2007 French-speaking Association of Readers of the Urantia Book
The tulip bloomed on the soldier's helmet,
In Arabic tulip was the name of Allah.
I who had picked it from the rock of Mount Palmyra,
I mixed perfumes with my bursts of laughter.
White, the dancing dervish and the slipping dress,
Flutter in the silk and turn the chalice.
Like the aroma of the wind in the air hides,
The breath of the flower undulates deep in the soul.
The tulip is the vase into which I poured,
Many blessed sorrows and broken dreams,
The wine of bitterness and the dew of the meadows.
I found in tears, the smile of fairies.
Soon I will fly to the rock of Mount Palmyra
To give to my God, gold, incense and myrrh,
And dew wine in the crystal cup
Which the Arab one day engraved on metal.
Jean-Claude Romeuf