I feel I'm strolling along you
pathways of see-through Maple trees
I hardly walk and I am sick...
You quiver like a leaf in currents...
I need you tumble with the time
From heavy winter - blossom of the trees
In winter's longing I just once
believed the color - a wild rose.
I feel myself strolling along you
with my own voice, with our steps
One deeply sigh - I will regret:
My lonely pathway was never Ours...
Written at age 17 translated now
Copyright © iolanda Scripca