Is laid hoard frost among the grass...will leave the birds.
In flying arrows they start to fly to warmer places...will leave the birds.
Hidden in story will overshadow paths,
my steps will hide under a silver veil...preserved moments,
as doves with hidden wings.
Moments-the moments remaining in my heart untouched,fragrant,playful.
Moments-the moments from early childhood,
hidden in a glove.
They fly...the birds,bringing with them the moments...in passing sign.
Frosting little stars will adorn the branches...forgotten moments-the moments,
hidden under a golden carpet-of frosting leaves.
My steps,they stopped into the night,
wasting my fear as the cries-of birds,
moments-the moments...of love,
kept in hand-here at the gate Time.
