One evening in the blue month of September
we lay at peace beneath an apple bough;
I took her in my arms, my gentle lover,
and held her closely like a dream come true -
while far up in the tranquil summer heaven
there was a cloud, I saw it high and clear.
It was so white and so immense above us
and, as I watched, it was no longer there.
Since then so very many different evenings
have drifted blindly past in the general flow.
Perhaps the apple orchard has been flattened;
and if you ask me where the girl is now
I have to admit I really don't remember.
I can imagine what you're going to say
but even her face I truly can't recapture;
I only know I kissed it there that day.
Even the kiss I would have long forgotten
if that one cloud had not been up there too -
I see it and will always see it plainly,
so white and unexpected in the blue.
Perhaps the apple boughs are back in blossom,
maybe she holds a fourth child in her knees;
The cloud, though, hung there for a moment only
and, as I watched, it broke up in the breeze.
- Bertolt Brecht