I walk my way on a foreign path

in innocence and shyness

in a sweet disorder, an error perhaps,

A loss of a memory, gone with the wind.


A tuneful voice that raise from bygone times

like a soft complaining flute

searching for the dark depths of Pain

and for the heights of blooming Passion.


How far the human mind can reach

to praise the inspiring gift that governs us

that drained my blood of stiffened thoughts

and left a wing of vocal breath in ease.


So far I could with happy steps move on

for listening to the notes of a disclosed temptation

of the well-dressed shining surprise, an isle

with its white breast opened to be kissed.


So pleased I favour the discrete approach

of an ethereal charm that touch my bounded senses

the most graceful sweetness for my eyes to behold

when fate awakes the rebirth of a lost memory

and with what my destiny of happening imparts.


April the 1st. ©k.c.