Dum spiro spero

From mornings with red blush, resembling harmony,
My thoughts are crafting days upon my summer’s path,
With greenish scenery, breathing the soft fresh air,
Yet concrete got me stuck within a heavy wrath.
Where are the lovely birds singing their hymns of love?
No longer meadows laugh, my neighbourhood is dry.
Under the scorched earth, cement tangents the life
Twisting the story line, the plastic blinds my eye.

From mornings with gold light, the yesterday’s embrace,
The hope, the pray, the long, are sparking my frail trail
With leaves on mellow fall, through autumnal soft grace,
Surrendering to earth their charming candid tale. 
The forests songs and rhymes are gathering through art,
Yet new echoes are void, encrypting stormy rains.
The human hands ignore the humble nature’s heart,
And autumns mourn their lost in deforested lanes.

From mornings with white snow, the childhood I recall,
My glowing content face, sleighing through winter’s joy,
Despite the past harsh times, I was a happy child,
Writing beneath wood’s wings, in fairy-tales convoy.
No longer winter’s songs are bridging magic words.
The woods remain apart, unfolding shallow roots.
The snowy sagas left, taking with them the birds
Of seasonal frost land, longing the concord’s fruits. 

From mornings with green rhymes, the peace I often call,
Nostalgic, gliding sleighs of youthful innocence,
Apart on forests’ core, a wind in A minor
Enchants my vivid dreams, waltzing my hope’s essence.
From memories I bring delightful sense of bliss,
Embracing trees of life, beside their sagas’ vow,
The smiles I gained from springs, with motherly life’s kiss,
Penning the strengths refrains, amazed by nature’s law.

© Simona Prilogan, 2024, London

Credit picture Pixabay