They return ,the moments,like the sound-of horn,the Beautiful Elves.
They will prepare shelter,as Fairies...through the air waves,looking for the rings.
They stick to my heart,memories,like a bride at chest lover,...palms,prayers,tears.
Are mysteries that are hiding,like white clouds-the nights,
like birds-singing-the mornings,
as silent-the thoughts.
Stick this moment of my heart,
in the silence of evening,pleasant touch of summer wind,
light and shadows,painted on the leaves
Melting-in my palms,the moments,like a balm on the heart.
