hellen71 Poetry (1)

Spring of forsythias

Who want to know wilderness of spring
Come to watch forsythias on the high mountain

Wind blowing up from all direction
Bring breath of ice earth from Siberia
Or of rain born by cyclone in Pacific
Her colorful collar flapping
Like a petal kiss the calyx
The last button on her shirt
Swallowed by the mouth of wind spirit
No one know when
While my hat spread its wing
Down to the valley
Without hesitation

At the summit
No one could reach to
Wild bees buzz in sunshine
Left their trace on the stone
By water of dark blue
Fisherman laid down his delicious bait
At that moment
Time passing by halting mingling
No one heard her push the shutter black box
tickling tickling

Previously beautiful pretty lady
Still singing alone
acompanying spring charming