After the rain,
The orchard’s path
Is overgrown with snails.
Slowly, hypnotically,
Emerging on silver roads
Escaping the deep, wet call,
That always pulls them in…
After the rains.
They glide on silver threads,
That leads to flower, from flower,
to leaf.
Oh, how much I would be one!
Silently watching the world go by
In a furious choreography …
Of trails.
No comments:
Post a Comment