The First Day Of Snow Poem by Gandaya Moe Sat

On the open palm,
nostalgia changes its seasons.
In temperate park of snow running,
benches of anyone's absence
slowly burn with hyperbole.
Reluctant acts of morning birds
fill the air after falling madly, drunkenly in love,
this lane in dementia shook snow down
with a forcible manner, just to give back it's heart to the creator.
After both have gone silent,
I play by snapping my fingers loudly,
whistling with a forceful exhale,
ejecting the saliva from my throat.
So, before the sunlight comes,
I need to find you again.
My dreams didn't betray,
and isn't it true that snowing is like strolling with faces of flowers?