Lawns of my memory
The days spent with you are still hanging in the lawns of my memory,
neither are they old nor the colors have faded;
even the seams of the dress that my thoughts wear of you are still in the same condition as you left them.
The eagles sometimes are tired and they come down in the lawn trying to steal the memory. The white and pink hyacinths mix as if ice melts in whiskey;
the smell of you in my arms still lingers on and i can spend a lot of time admiring how beautiful that aroma of your