Green grass,
the scent and colors of wildflowers,
and on the face, a smile that remembers springtimes
while the sun gently caresses them
and bathes them in its warmth.
White daisies
dance proudly in the breeze
as if to say:
we are happy just as we are,
and need nothing more.
Summer’s heat weaves its fingers
and adds a shade of yellow
to the canvas of beautiful plants,
excessive and merciless,
while they beg for the last drops of rain.
Something has grown quiet.
Looking at those once-lovely blades of grass
I now see
an invisible thread that binds us
in the whirlpool of memories.
At times, a weary smile appears,
accompanied by restless longing.
Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 11:58 PM UTC
Green grass,
the scent and colors of wildflowers,
and on the face, a smile that remembers springtimes
while the sun gently caresses them
and bathes them in its warmth.
White daisies
dance proudly in the breeze
as if to say:
we are happy just as we are,
and need nothing more.
Summer’s heat weaves its fingers
and adds a shade of yellow
to the canvas of beautiful plants,
excessive and merciless,
while they beg for the last drops of rain.
Something has grown quiet.
Looking at those once-lovely blades of grass
I now see
an invisible thread that binds us
in the whirlpool of memories.
At times, a weary smile appears,
accompanied by restless longing.
A reflection on how joy arrives and goes, on the passing of youth and innosence and the quiet longing for moments that slipped away. 🥹