death · Faith · Sky

Wooden bell

The wooden bell is only a shadow,
a prophecy of spring.
It takes fire, and heartache
to make a bell sing.

Beyond the foundations of time
lays the plain of sweet seeds,
where Your thoughts come to life
in butterfly shape.

Alas, we wander the earth
looking for a sign from You,
while You arise in silence
solid stars on our path.

In the scent of linden flowers
You visit us most often,
though You make no efforts
to stop us from falling.

How often have we asked You
the same green question:
Why do cheerily robins choke
in the hawk’s tight embrace?

Romanian version


One thought on “Wooden bell

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