My Wife Gave Me a Rose
I walked over the autumn’s leaves
and borrowed a fruit
from a bony tree’s branch.
I rested under a shadow –
where no shadow I could see -
and opened a book to read with serenity.
I will borrow from the rose
the color for me to dress
when I met night’s eyes gazing me afar.
Leaves and pages are mixed,
The path I came vanishes in the night,
and the road ahead ends with the next step.
If I had no cause to move
I would have to invent some,
be God, be fame, be hunger or thirsty.
Yet, here I am walking by the grass,
hearing the owl whispering in the dark
names I better never forget.
I may have left the windows and doors open.
If the wind brings rain and thunder
I will not return to my old house again.
A slope invites me to slide on the lawn,
fast and also careless,
down by the hillside…
And now?
I hold the book in one hand
and the hat with the another.
Jump on the meadow content,
hoping bellow there is a road
to follow after eve’s greeting.
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