it is easy
she pretends the leaves are all dead
in the middle of spring
when he comes
she did not like it anymore
it is easy
she pretends there are no more flowers
that it is time for mourning
when he comes
she is dressed in black and
silence
her lace around her lips
veiled
and stony.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem