Nostalgia
By Tatiana Pahlen

The ink dried up
across my thumb,
the pen broke wows
of inspirations,
before a tiny ladybug
fell on my palm.

I felt a tremble on my skin,
my blood ran fast through stagnant valves;
a melody of grasshopper’s harps
relived my past.

I dreamed of a long abandoned land
with cherry orchards, fields and lakes,
longing for the scent of hay
the harvest makes.

Jumping over a clear brook,
I sat on the grass and closed my eyes,
hearing your voice among passing bees,
with your touch on the wing
of a butterfly.

July 3, 2006

Copyright © 2006 Tatianyc. All Rights Reserved.