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 orchids, fields and lakes,
longing for the scent of hays
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.