Forget-me-not
星期五 五月 01, 2009 3:46 pm
We used to pretend
to be grownups
at the age of five.
On an old-fashion station,
we stood up on our shiny shoes,
kissing butterfly-goodbyes
in repetitive whistles.
We laughed at our wet lips
and ruby spotted face,
and never knew the portion
of unforgettable things,
listed so pale and so fragile,
just like our lost worn boots.
The railroad goes far and far,
the tiny blue blossoms tangle along.
In the dusty wind, they remind me
of your touch on my flying hair;
my soft lips whisper like yesterday's
unfolded wings.