Sway with the wind and leaves wriggle your hands and feet forming ethereal movements for the affair is so unreal between the buds and the blooming bee.
Just after few days few rains few nights the wind will meticulously play a serenade, when the labyrinth tale of cucumber will twist in flounder to grasp the hard bark of an oak tree .
Following this symphony a flock swirl up in the sky making shapes irregular to justify, they passes by every yard to swill the pots filled with water and seize the scrolling vermins for their babies left in cradles held by a bough of their tree adobe .
The wind still blows the fallen leaves from the litter to make them breathe before they stir with soil.
I'm A Dewdrop, Sometimes Worn By Their Empty Eyes To Kiss Their Pain As A Teardrop
I have travelled the junction betwixt rainbows and rains although my fragile, delicate and curve physique is hard to elope with any season or sky my pockets are filled with the peonies of hope while my dewy flesh can constellate thousands of monarchies to cosmic burgs
The hiraeth those icicles cause shiver my soul but those blossoms glow my blued womb with shades of snow I feel grey in lips of autumn when a petal of lily wither indicating another yatter of grave-gardenia with an apt ambush of coronavirus on the people of Vatican to Russia
I try to mask those innocent eyes with fog and drops of tears but how can I stop the violent flames of inhumanity and let clouds snuff the lightening of tyranny and to chunder camaraderie as I know I'm the last and eensy extant of nature afraid of being blown off in the poems of oblivion .
(Vatican is worlds smallest while Russia is biggest country)