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