I miss those days
in which sat on a bench
under a cherry tree
and bathed with its flowers
while melted with its perfume.
It was like this throughout the spring.
—
The pink velvet under my feet,
the tree above me dropping endless flowers,
and the sun's rays sneaking
between the branches of the cup
they brought with them the opening of the portal
towards the infinite magical region
where little fairies with flowered wings
they tinkled between sweet fruits bigger than them.
—
But the mystery of that magical and springtime world
it was you there, smiling and young
bathed in the flowers of the delicate cherry trees.
Seeing you like that I knew that their perfume was really yours.
—
When fall comes there is no way to find the portal.
I'm going with a candle tonight
that already awaits the departure of winter at dawn
an icy spectrum of darkness.
The candle in my hand lit reminds me of spring warmth.
Bats began to emerge from the dry branches of the cherry tree
