It was green, the silence; the light was moist;
the month of April trembled like a butterfly;
and you, passed through noon,
through the regions of the south,
my sea of hills and stones.
You went carrying your cargo of lost flowers,
petals battered and abandoned by the wind,
but your hands, still white, untanned by the afternoon,
gathered the blooming stalks that grew in the grass.
I love your pure simple gifts, your skin like whole stones,
your nails, offerings, in the suns of your fingers,
your mouth brimming with peaceful joy.
Oh, in my house beside the emerald abyss, give me
the soothing structure of that silent
blowing spectrum of the sea,
forgotten on the hills
but flowing from your hands.
the month of April trembled like a butterfly;
and you, passed through noon,
through the regions of the south,
my sea of hills and stones.
You went carrying your cargo of lost flowers,
petals battered and abandoned by the wind,
but your hands, still white, untanned by the afternoon,
gathered the blooming stalks that grew in the grass.
I love your pure simple gifts, your skin like whole stones,
your nails, offerings, in the suns of your fingers,
your mouth brimming with peaceful joy.
Oh, in my house beside the emerald abyss, give me
the soothing structure of that silent
blowing spectrum of the sea,
forgotten on the hills
but flowing from your hands.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
that's me in a kilt...