Farewell, Paris

A liberal translation of Catullus XLVI

Spring was blossoming through chilly rain, 
The strain of winter silently levelled 
By the golden rays of a Western sun.
“I shall leave the streets of Paris
And her cheap, sweaty bars;
I shall go and the cities of Britain and Italy.”
Already I felt Wanderlust, my feet lighter with the thought of travel. 
“My dear band of beloved poets, musicians and talents all accepting, we have come so far over the years and known many strifes…”

Wait, that will do; I’m outta here. Farewell, fuckers. 

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