On the pathways in the valleys, where the sun weaves with the eaves' shadows
On the pathways in the valleys, where the sun weaves with the eaves' shadows,
April's flickers spill to adorn the pale oases.
Winter's shadows are extinguished, broken in the wait for buds to bloom,
Melting away in the golden dawns, lofty beneath the proud morning's loom.
The industrious rays of the sun begin to sprinkle golden threads
Over the endless play of the bold waves, crowned with foam.
Sun-borrowed sparkles take flight, enveloping
Under the trembling whirl of streams in full awakening, spreading
Beneath leaves and through groves, the untold mysteries of light,
While shadows dance, slipping into a verdant symphony's rite.
Stray glimmers penetrate through branches, butterflies speaking to the sea,
Creating moving shadows that arrange threads of gold and emerald tapestry.
Young leaves, in shades of fresh green and pure celebration,
Spin softly on the life's current of birth, before May's first ovation,
Leaving time in a diaphanous flight of sigh.
The days open wide, coaxing flower buds to rise in a chant of love,
Think of the hour when they bloom in white and pink beneath the gently fading sun above.
Light in tender twilights cuts through shadow after shadow unfurled,
Drawing hopes on the fabric of the darkness that slowly comes undone.
Ephemeral yet so full, the song of the spring's bronzed dawns.
Oh, the symphony of resurrection that transforms the wood and spreads life's canvas drawn,
Witnesses to the rebirth of all, under the deep azure arch.
Spring, the valiant weaver, stitches its desires in fresh green,
While the clear murmur of waters in the changing shadows,
Is lost, lost in the fresh mystery, under the warm eye of the rising sun.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
|