The flowers of the little Ilda by Ann Wood
I bring an old fairy tale into my soulfrom childhood, far away, beautiful.
Flowers went to the ball at night,
they danced there and were happy.
Andersen, good storyteller
had collected a child, a student.
To the souls of men - an expert
he enchanted them, as I did.
And the student storyteller
while paper is simple,
cut people, heart,
Ida was visiting him.
Wonderful story told
he to the little girl.
For the beauty of the flowers,
that look like children.
In the evening, everyone will fall asleep
ball started for flowers.
They could fly easily,
that their wings are the leaves.
They can't talk.
The wind is their friend.
Shakes branches, leaves-
the flowers come to life.
Do you see butterflies,
know - before the flowers were.
The birds will wake them up
back in the spring early.
White, yellow butterflies
and red may even.
My childhood is awakening,
butterfly as it flies.
Poetry by Ann Wood
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Written on 2020-03-20 at 17:07
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