To hear the spring’s
night rain
and the song of a nightingale
with the mountains
as guards from any pain
to drink cold water from the eternal waterfall
where there is no one you can call
to walk among the ancient trail
crawl like respective royal snail
with curses for your stubborn self
but you continue nonetheless
‘cause everything is more or less
yet you are still thinking
I got to stop getting drunk
‘cause you are always on the brink
but then again what the heck
either way you are a wreck
so you become a child of the wind
to get away from any fiend
life is a short and agonized cry
and death a moment
yet he is so shy
and anyway she decided to fly
Maria Rodopoulou
Εpirus 05.2024
