poem poems

Seasons

I'm like the seasons,
I also change my nature with time.
There are days when
I'm a canvas painted with melancholy,
the silence in the room,
the traveller
who only wants to find her home.

Others days,
I'm the rolling skate on the street,
music tipping my feet,
the shadow falling from the tree,
the deer raising its ears
to sounds of insects' wings,
the grass bending for festivities.

Other days, I'm the white moon
floating on red horizons,
the fountain's water filling my palm,
merry sounds from a fanfare,
the wood for bonfires, a temple of passion,
and like the seasons' weather
I also break all forecasts.

 

 

  

Poems: A page of Rosa Clement´s site
© (2003)