You must be patient. Look the world and don’t say anything
look at you :The language is source of misunderstanding;
And your rebel golden hair is waving through
The maze that is golden, too: it will remind you…
I love the round of the wind in the maze.
I love the sound of the breeze, while I gaze
A playtful bird in a the sky an other bird whom run
-Karen calls this ,challenge, the moments of sun…
Bogardo`s song: “Forests` Fairy, be child again and play with me…”
I saw a green kitten that grew as cat whetting her claws on a tree;
Then ,as Green tigress running a stag in the silent green ;
Impressing dress, swinging long dress lovely waving so green…
This dream ,Daniel ,you may translate at the court of your Queen
You must come back at the same poem,at the same time
I’ll wait for you in the same blessed unforgettable rhyme
Happiness always tip-toes and suddenly brings
Not only words of optimism, but certain things
Ready to fly with us above the Fallen Crest
Brave Caryl, the most verses usually unwritten rest
Outside the entrance with many mirrors and wonders.
I’m trying to reply with verses to wonderful senders:
I don’t know why your names as fresh as a daisy
Sound me so familiar that they make me so crazy
To think I learnt your poems by heart once, in the past.
From my monastery called tomorrow, covered by light’s dust
Michael ,you wake up a dream whose echoing like rain
In my heart's joyous exile, has broken that chain:
Rapping, tapping, slowly entered my prayer
Taking part to the River Prayer, my dear;
But don’t bet on me, because I don’t know if It is written
In the forest to find what you search: I am a silent birch
With the inner song and the feelings of our High Church.
I am the happy lark who meets you, old pelerine Mark
I found …!I found good earth. I’m resting now on this Ark.
From swirled clouds ,the splendid lasting mark
Is hold in frozen seasons and forests dark?
As secret flame of love of life ,of kiss Of Mark
Admiring the flight of birds and, the song of the lark;
I stayed a lot and meditated in a hot milk afternoon:
Sue’s dunes like shapes of acratered