Beautiful white flowers on a branch, placed in a vase
of water, after having been cut from their childhood
abode - a tree.
Dogwood flowers reminding images of New Jersey a long
time ago.
Now memories in a part of grey matter from when young.
Touching their beauty and sacredness with senses
strong enough to smell their scent still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem