Lovely Day
The summer breeze teases
my barely survived wintered-skin
and the lush green tickles my feet as
I walk through the morning's watering eyes,
up high, the heat is there, it's hot, but not yet hot enough
to reach the surface of nature's beauty.
It's still.
And though the wind whips my blonde,
protecting my survived skin,
it's beautiful.
And the water twinkles,
rippling like the wrinkles of the elderly,
soft yet calming.
They're reassuring.
And one day I hope to be a part of that twinkling part of nature,
become one with nature's elders,
safe and sound.
And as the branches grow simultaneously,
the concrete remains grey. Unchangeable. Unique.
That concrete, the same one that remains conditioned by heaps of snow,
rain, mud, muck of all sorts,
stays exactly the way it was once made.
So that it can take the million walkers, bikers, cars and buses.
And it can remain a loyal invention of mankind,
surrounded by the beauty of
Spring
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