Bring your snowflakes to my garden
Where they may lay among the leaves
And I’ll count them with the fallen hopes
That no one else can see
Rest your hesitation in my hands
Where it might find its home
And I’ll set it gently inside these lines
So that it won’t be alone
Give your sunlight to my window
Speak to me of better days
Lend your wisdom to the quietude
And let it have its say
Offer reason to the madness
Offer hope to the forlorn
Give the night its season
Seed the fallow morn
Free the wind
Loose the screams
Tell your secrets
Chase your dreams
Bring on the rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Chris, this is marvelous, bright, filled with life. 'Give the night its season'. Yes, night comes, whether we like it or not; 'seed the fallow morn', that's what counts. This is filled with hope - 'speak to me of better days' Chris, I'll bring the snowflakes of my pains to your garden, that they may fall on the scorched leaves of fallen hopes and water them once again with dancing joy.