A delicate fabric of bird song,
Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere.
Red small leaves of the maple
Are clenched like a hand,
Like girls at their first communion
The pear tree stand.
Oh I must pass nothing by
Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
The grass with my touch;
For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May
shining after the rain?
Happy International Workers day, comrades and friends.
ReplyDeleteI found this on internet and it is really very nice to read
Very nice poem.
Great work!
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cheers
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