And Write To Me...Your Letters Poem by Dagmara Anna AuraDagimar

at least swift years are passing
nightingales identically are singing
in the process with voice
in the green clump, and love then again,
is decking itself with the May

so that in the gift, you can give,
enchanted in strophes of poems, words,
you try into lake bulrushes to hide
and listen to the wind, what still anew,
with swinging, is caressing meadows.

because you, you want to declare
what you feel to me. I know, that it is
usually difficult. more freely
it is writing, than it is saying.
you are bewitching on the marvellous lines,
into flowers. you are picking them for me,

or you are buying.and not you are first,
and not you are last, which is sending
colour envelopes, what oneself, from your
confidences and declarations.it is browning,
shimmering with the fire being on fire
it are finding their way to me so that

I feel your eyesight which includes
my waist. even though gently, still
I feel, as if sea wave affected me,
what is moving closer to the edge,
and isn't moving away
write...to me.