you start your life early, as usual, four in the morning
when the rest are still asleep
you start organizing your thoughts for the day
hopefully a brighter one
unlike yesterday's storm
when the house was closed
when there is nothing practical about
opening a window
you like this feeling of having written
another poem
a brighter one perfumed with delight
you write the last line
and put there the word
happiness
and then you put the graphics
of a daisy where a butterfly
flutters its proboscis
tickling the center of the
pistil of this flower
that you offer
for yourself
it is a bright day
you open the door remembering some dance steps
in the green grass of your father's yard
the roses that mother always love
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem