My Saint Poem by Judit Vázsonyi

The twilight is beetling
the evening is silent
Big dipper wakes up
the breath of time spent.
The drowsy sun comes down,
and looks back at me,
a moment on the mountain,
It's a wink in the red spree.​

Moon is coming soon,
she put on makeup,
candles invite her rays,
to dance and then burn up.
The candles are burning
They do not care for them,
what I think, what I feel,
and for my shadow even.

​I stand in the garden
there isn't a breeze there,
I'm speechless and lifeless
My heart doesn't hurt either.
The child doesn't call me
he forgot his mother,
his soul is light now,
where they don't suffer.

​The veil of time flutters
gently and fondly,
an orphaned small flower
gives some mercy to me,
she drops her petals
like heated hot tears,
on the ground of grave,
instead of me, like cares.