MY YEARS
You’ll find them in the rings of the yearning oak,
Returned from endless journeys
Across the dried seas of tears.
Thin lines of sorrow-awaiting
That never came.
Wave upon wave, ring upon ring,
Trembling with lost loves.
In the rings of the oak, springs sleep,
Forgotten winters, wild waves,
Storms with sighs of pain,
Broken branches of hope
Weakened by cruel winds,
By frost and thaw,
Fallen down slopes.
Nights and days
With the rustling lullabies of leaves,
The morning songs of nightingales
With shy glances toward the heights.
Spring birds inscribe their songs,
The sounds of love in those lines
Soaring into the blue.