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This love - original song


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Been workin' on this for a while...



It is a quiet love - it does not want, does not ask.


Does not put conditions, does not recognize scales.


It bathes in random blick of the eyes


and grows up in the loneliest days.




It is a hidden love, not a parade one, not a lion’s one


Just like a rootlet started off to grow up a stem.


It soaks the word’s fragile sprays,


from feathers it is painting a wing.




It is a long love, just like a silk thread


In the butterfly memory of a mulberry leaf.


Quietly with an autumn flock it will pass trough you


or with the song of a winter cricket.

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