|
You looked so frail. You were a flower child and I believed flowers were
frail, I looked at you while you’re dancing and I believed the high tide would
sweep you away soon. You danced and dreamed of being a flower so much powerful
to bewitch the sea, you danced and knew that you would be stronger than the high
tide. Many years later I saw you again, I recognized you at a glance: you were a
limonium flower that the breeze made dance joyfully on the bitter ground of a
saltmarsh in the Venetian Lagoon. You were a tiny limonium flower so much strong
to change the high tide salt into honey, an honey as sweet as the memory of a
sunny beach where we danced and dreamed of being flowers so much powerful to
bewitch the sea. |
