Forty-five years we've hang
Our smile in a perfect
Union of unchangingly joy
On our face. Money was good and happiness melted in.
Seeing the four flamed seasons
Became thinner, and thinner
And no longer, in July, near
The snowflakes, we don't ask to ourselves
where might be for the firewood's sun
If there will be a return.
For all these years, the utters moonlight
Has shone the same thing over and over, everywhere
Like a principle to be alive. And we believe it.
We really believe it
That's what we got.
Across the rocky sky, like the rain
In a spangled dawn, steps have not been easier
Through the flowering bees; I don't know why:
But the pleasure has been
Good enough to grow almost crazy among them?
We know there can't be a come back
To that unwelcome past, stalking by the shores sea
After a journey of half-century
Of green love and trust.
Let us enter boldly to our remember,
Crossing the peak along the sweet
Joy and sorrow. Find it a parting promise's
Love that we could never
Be tired as far as our eyes
Can see one another
And who will never abandon
This bloomy age.
As, adult world and heaven,
The barefoot is there--
And at noon, we know we are still
Rowdy as a friend in a toll mountain!
Copyright © George Zamalea