Two Parallel WorldsA Poem by Little BirdieIt’s been twenty-seven years, so tell me, does she still smell of cinnamon and apples?If the memory serves me right and is untainted by the touch of time
and if she is like I recall, mellow with silence,
she really hasn’t changed, she hasn’t changed at all.
Please, if you come by her, hesitate no further than to contact me straight away,
or if you can’t reach me, or find me, tell her not to avoid the path through forest
and that I’m still waiting there every rainy Sunday morning
on the forever abandoned place where she used to wait for me on the way back home.
Tell her to stop crying every other night before she falls asleep, or when someone mentions my name.
It’s been twenty-seven years, so tell me, does she still smell of cinnamon and apples,
do her eyes light up every time she passes around the corner,
does she feel confused every time the spring is young and the white flowers bloom, but the meadow is empty?
After all this time, does she still expect to see me when the night dies away, sleeping by her side?
Does she wake up in half-panic and half-excitement with sombre hope that she’ll see me return?
She will cry. Calm her; she is fragile and she mustn’t break,
so if you see her up by the early dawn clutching a water kettle with her old, shaky hands,
smiling to no-one and to everyone eyes filled with uncertain kindness,
tell her I still love her like I used to, tell her I miss everything about her waiting in silence, to meet her again. © 2011 Little BirdieReviews
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Added on September 23, 2011Last Updated on September 23, 2011 Author
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