If the flame
hidden in the chest
would ignite a spark of pleasantness,
a rainbow would appear
before the sad eyes and withered hope,
to shower kisses
to soar them to the blue sky.
Springs would start to murmur,
and white blossoms would dance
above meadows covered with dew lace.
Then, I would feel the warmth
of nurturing a rose
with a gentle touch
from the fingers that conjured
the caressing southern breeze
ever so tender and blossoming.
Ratka Bogdan
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