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.