It scents ripe chestnuts
And rhymes in longing’s embrace.
Daydreams are smiling through whispers,
Mysteriously painting their Autumn.
From the north is coming down
A sprightly wind singing in a minor.
The blue sky, for a second,
Wrapped my will in a sense,
Carving serenity on its wing
And casting shelter for stillness.
The angels are dancing waltz
With the wind from orient.
It scents ripe grapes from vineyard
And prayers hold in the hearts,
And colours that get back to life
In an old corner of this blessed Autumn.
Through all of these, you are speaking to me, Demiurge,
And yours remains my whispered mystery.
It’s peace, it’s bright, it’s warm and blessing.
Oh, God, your light is sun for me,
And even if the clouds are dancing
I know there will be a tomorrow
Full of rain of your grace.
On the Autumn easel, it triumphs
The utterances of velvet.
It scents holy love
And words written on psalms.
It scents Autumn which is blessing
The dreaming along chestnuts trees.
© Simona Prilogan, Nottingham