when i was yours

and the time was not yet born, nor was the distance, i was yours, like the poppies on the banks of the rivers, i covered valleys and hills, the graves of heroes, when the bees gathered the honey without tasting it, and the sky was lost in the eyes of an infant, i was yours and the words were not born yet, and the verses were free, swaying in the heat of the desert, and tasted the sand water, when i was yours i was the poetry of the storm and fire, only the hot blood does not know how to burn without the tears of heaven