Please note that I do not wish any reviews to this work as this is not yet part of a story.
I would like to share it anyway, as I know so very well how inspiring a poem can be -
and I have to start rebuilding this account now one of these days. gg
I won't give hints for interpretation, but if you ever walked through a flowermarket,
you will know what gave me inspiration :-) Especially at this time of the year
May
The blossom, it sleeps so silently,
so dulcet in its snowy cradle;
lulled into it it has been by winter:
"Hush, fall asleep, prospering child."
And descending from filmy highs
were its sisters who love and bloom.
Dressed in the gala uniform of dissipation
a flower-sceptre in its little hand,
is now May, the Mozart of the calendar,
sliding over land
in its carriage, lusty and tender.
Tomtits flutter ahead and a thrush
and peacock butterflies keep flapping after.
The apple trees behind the fence blush,
the birches drop a green curtsy
and nightingale is singing
the scherzo of the symphony of happiness.
Sweet hymns of joy
in grateful chorus we raise.
The carriage rolls through breathing pastels.
We salute, the carriage rolls by.
Time drowns in lilac and jasmine.
Oh, if there was a year of only May!
Melancholy and Joy are sisters as it seems.
And from tiny branches falls withered snow.
Today is turning into yesterday with each pulse beat,
azure transforms into afterglow
and May smiles a last goodbye.
Forgive that we are bold enough to portrait,
although the veil is waving,
your visage remains cloaked.
Then come, May, break the cradle of snow,
and carefully shake the blossom:
"Wake up, haste, oh withering child."
It lifts its gaze, oh how it hurts,
and ascends into luminous highs,
where shiny bloom its sisters.
So create yourself!
Of never heard melodies,
of colours no rainbow shows.
Go plunder the treasure
of the unseen beauty.