My hand holds your hand

Written by: Ovidiu Bocsa

My hand holds your hand and that`s enough.
In the green`s intervals, the weather is rough;
The blue wind freed its own ghost’s chain
Following the rhythm of the crystalline rain;
With the leaf`s thrill and embrace`s embers
Patient ruby hidden in alabaster chambers, 
Far from the desert of mirrors, standing aloof
As vulnerable as the surge`s serenity`s proof;
Simple surmise falling down with the mist,
Suspension bridge above the yellow East;
Looking from the season `s round roof,
Solitude seems hit by a rueful cold hoof.
Like the violet dawns date with the pale moon,
Chapel`s morning joined the emerald afternoon;
Air angels with white wings are our mates;
Trees beg for heaven to let open the gates; 
We listen to inner chansons sung by Edith Piaf
My hand holds your hand and that`s enough.