Poetry of the season
Looking outside the window

The view from here
A secret yet to reveal
Looking at my own hand waving
Outside the window, green grass
And look who has come back a stranger.
Is this the return of a lover
Or is it cool and darker formed
As we are slowly moving into the night
Everywhere these shadows
Spring times of the past
The world in a new round
A heart-shaped world, is this a magic turn
Then yet to be discovered
Why do I fool myself again
Look into our eyes again
Fresh grass. Fresh eyes. Spring.
The secret of the thing.