Seasons

„And mom, stones were changing

into butterflies, learning how to fly.”

The child was smiling,

my tears gathering in beehives

became like dewdrops.

 

This time I was walking along,

a trembling shadow,

counting leaves into rivers,

returning whispers to silence,

haunted by brown and dry colors,

with my eyes moist like tender stars rising

in the summer evenings,

with my heartbeat unleashing

the cold springs waterfalls

from bygone days.

 

(2007)

Reviews

[Marie]

Seasons come and go...sometimes our memories come and go with them...

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

Thanks, you are very kind Marie.