To Kahlil Gibran's Flower
I am a kind of word spoken by the voice of nature
I am the element flying gracefully on a green pasture
I am a silent child in Summer and the brave child that Winter has believed
I crown the opening of the golden Spring and a gentle heart that Autumn conceived
I caress the majestic body of the flower as she announce the coming of the light
At nocturnal melodies, I dance with the birds on their lonely flight
The plains are full of the vibrant grace by those lovely flowers
As I embrace the early morning lovers
I cradle the spirit of the one who drinks wine
As he promenades with the swaying leaves of the vine
I am a dulcet entity whispered by a faint death
I am the little joy sang by a saddened health
I am the air breathed by a living man
and a mysterious knight to a crying little one
When the flower look high to never see her shadow
I escape through a broken, dusty window
To uplift her when she will feel me blow
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