There really is nothing more meaningful than to wander around,
In a park,
Amongst trees and flowers and some squirrels,
Some people here and there,
Some rays of sunlight piercing through the leaves and caressing the skin of those
Who wonder around, in a park, amongst trees and flowers and squirrels.
Some gentle rain makes it even more divinely peaceful,
But it may sadden and soak some of those
Who wonder around, in a park, amongst tall and short trees,
Colourful flowers and plainly green grass,
With squirrels jumping around and curious about these giants.
Nothing,
And everything, at the same time,
Are the feelings of those who wander around, in a park,
Stopping somewhere a moment to appreciate nature, bending somewhere else to hurt a flower.
They are able to tell everything to whomever they are walking with,
Those who wander around a park, without a clear destination,
Conscious that they will have to cross a gate to get out
And they will lose every bit of pleasure gained throughout such walk.
Many people kiss in parks,
And lay on the grass,
As if it were a private room, with invisible wall,
Or thinking that no-one else wanders around,
In a park, looking for happiness and tranquillity.
