Kind of like sitting on a still summer eve
by the lake, on the pier, alone.
Only the wind would play music to your ear
and maybe draw complex images on the water.
From yellow to red the evening would glide,
treetops would sigh.
A lone swallow would glide towards the horizon
as if fearing the days end.
Only a recollection the cold frost would be,
burnt away by the midsummer fires
and the rush only a faint memory anymore,
drowned by the peaceful sleep.
"Let those thoughts be,
their time is not now",
the Summer would whisper in your ear -
"Sleep now child, sleep".
Selite:
Käännetty vanhasta runosta.. vaatii ehkä vähän hiomista vielä
oletus
- Kirjaudu tai rekisteröidy kommentoidaksesi
