The violin strings
Turned my fingers red…
Your music was a storm
on a flower bed.
I am
the slave of your seasons –
Are you my spring?
Am I blue and bold?
Are my snows melting?
Touch away my blues
To sweeter greens,
Let your soft summers
Drench my winter scenes.
In my battered soil
Is your flower bed –
For balms and herbs
I you raid.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 12:22 PM UTC
The violin strings
Turned my fingers red…
Your music was a storm
on a flower bed.
I am
the slave of your seasons –
Are you my spring?
Am I blue and bold?
Are my snows melting?
Touch away my blues
To sweeter greens,
Let your soft summers
Drench my winter scenes.
In my battered soil
Is your flower bed –
For balms and herbs
I you raid.
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