| Wednesday, 02 June 2021 | Print
Doina Moritz
14th May 2021
When the lilac cries its flower,
Through dark purple and purple white,
Lost, rocking its color,
Easy step, minute tact.
In my sad spring
The blooming tree from the well,
Bitter tears in the tissue,
From the grow to the root
Overflowed, mourning the sorrow,
That May keeps betraying him,
You throw when life rolls the dice,
And time, the road waltzes it
Always making only small stops,
To admire a flower each,
Pass then counting clocks…
In my backyard I cry lacquers.
When you left for clear sights,
By a choir of angels accompanied,
The fragrance of virgin flowers,
Alean on the stray road
I have been and I have treasure left,
Same, white and purple and purple,
Suave lace perfume…
Sad sift, shades of regret.
Copyright Reserved@Doina Moritz
Posted 5:36 pm | Wednesday, 02 June 2021
globalpoetandpoetry.com | faroque
