“The Rotunda”, by Lea Díaz

http://homeplanetnews.org/AHPNONL18.html      

The Rotunda

                                                                In a bucolic rotunda

We admired the distant mountains crowded with pines,

Dark-green spots, minuscule figures

In the fine silver thread between God and humanity.

 

In a solitary rotunda

We talked, we laughed,

Soft, loving echoes tapped the ancient wood

We dreamed

One dream, the same dream.

 

The rustic bench we were sitting on

Would be covered with a mantle of spring flowers

After our company.

Creepers would climb the idyllic gallery

As our mellow presence cured its nostalgia.

The sun so warm, rewarding,

Irradiated auras of something pure.

 

I leaned my head on your shoulder, the eyes closed

Your voice filled with peaceful notes the quiet morning

I need the Beauty´, I whispered

Words from the heart carrying desires for unknown bliss

Inside, you wanted and longed for that rare plenitude

 

There are tracks in the snow

Precise and neat

We walk hand by hand along imaginary paths

White paths towards rotunda universes

Constellations of pristine Beauty grow in our souls

 

 

 

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