I’m afraid to write about all I love,
All I want,
All I feel.
What if I ran out of words?
Where will I get more then?
Will the south wind bring it to me?
The one who plays with my hair gently
Like you did once.
Will the river sing it to me?
I’ll sing along with its cold waters then.
Will yellow daffodil whisper it to me?
Like you whispered with me in a morning once.
Will I see them in a shape of a pink cloud?
Will I find them in a pale of susurrous leaves
That smell like an autumn house?
All I know is that those words
Will drop into my hands
Like little marbles,
Like a summer rain they will fall on me,
Like an eagle hunting for a hesitant snake
I will find what to say.
If I ask for the right ones.
