Dreams In Winter
Winter dreams
recalled in a song
telling of bright eyes’ fire.
The eyes in front of me
were dark blue sky.
Sunny hair
curled around
a small face.
A splash of sympathy
spread out
in this garden,
awakened by flowers
grow for a while.
Forgot to be
a traveller,
a voyageusse,
who calls
many places
her home.
To be a
voyageusse
means
to dream life
to live life,
but never have
a steady place to rest.
Rest for
some minutes,
some hours,
some days.
Why to count time?
time is endless for me.
The time of a week
seems too short,
better not to think
about.
Toutes les droites appartiennent à son auteur Il a été publié sur e-Stories.org par la demande de Inge Offermann.
Publié sur e-Stories.org sur 16.06.2010.
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