I Shall Be a Flower 5: The Clearing

Again today, I
head for the small clearing in my enormous forest,
cherishing child’s naïve dream,
receiving threat of the Sacrament of Reconciliation,
hearing a plea that the clearing should be filled with Jesus.
A little bird that would bring a news of her coming
didn’t come, but she would fill up the clearing
which nobody or nothing can squeeze in.
The reeling of any twigs,
The sorrow of feebly falling leaves,
can’t replace her mysterious smile.
The sound of undressing of autumn trees
can’t be compared with the thrill of taking off her veil.
Today again,
the clearing is filled with her esoteric fragrance,
not because of weary autumn rain visiting every day,
not because of the November standing dubiously
between Autumn and Winter,
not because of her holed socks,
but because of the wobbling of the shallow-rooted flowering tree
that hasn’t gone through the winter of endurance.

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