Some poetry would have fitted, yes. However as I have not written yet some pieces for our master, whose year is this year, here we go with the traditional message.
Charles Baudelaire would be 196 today. One of our dearest writers of all the time. Probably one of the most talented poet of the 19th century. I'm sure you've already fallen of ectasy while ready the Flowers of Evil.
Parnasse, romanticism, symbolism, matching stuff, mediumism, all those, I have to say, brought their brick to the litterary history. Baudelaire joined the all,you may know. Tasty style, fascinating topics, strange and pathetic life, and a wonderful poetic. A damned poet. THE damned poet with all the dreamy concepts around, a damned poet who predicted once his fame of nowadays, as wished in The death of artists. A poet, an art critic, a thinker. Read The Spleen of Paris, it is worth.
Dear Mr Baudelaire, you have suceeded in souls and heart. You have touched my soul and my heart. And even if you're damned and unfriendly I'll never let you down. An aspiring poet speaks and thanks you for every little advice and wonder you offered me indirectly while she was in love with your poems.
Therefore I say, happy birthday to you, who has found pleasure and end to your suffer away from Earth and Life.
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