The north wind was always blowing
as I mounted
the staircase of that dream.
On the way I always found
fallen leaves
shed from the trees,
I had planted in my imagination.
The Autumn of a woman...
Two drops of bitterness
on the eyelashes.
Plucked petal by petal.
Abandoning the struggle.
I used to hold them in my hands
and wish on them
But none has come to pass...