It’s the morning of that smile of yours
Left by chance in front of my door
Words patchworked on the blanket
Covering the dead ends of the past
It’s like that love of God’s opening the doors
I’m sure I swear and nothing more
Just open pure love and I thank it
I’m grateful for it’ll last
Keep things in joy and alive
Make children hop around
Spin the dawns caressing
So whenever
Mountain springs peacefully die
Deep into the dry broken ground
I’ll think of it as of a blessing
For it’ll be the water of that love of yours
Left at the bottom of every well
It’ll be the love opening all the doors
I will be silent but drops will tell
©Miroslava Odalovich
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem