When sunbeams gild the blushing rose petals
And violets grow wild on a sleeping maiden's grave
When mists roll out anointing the sprouts
And the brook flows serenely like a prophecy unfolding...
I feel him passing by in the wind's fragrant breath
His knuckles touch mine, his sweet roguish smile
Freezes my pulse for a long disturbing moment
And then... he takes my all away while handing me a pen.
He is no more than a longing, an artist's forlorn dream
Restlessness of a wanderer, a ballad's scattered theme.
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