My years

 

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.