Music
There
are little bubbles of tunes born by
perfect secrets,
So they roll in green emotions, they
flow in waves of amour,
And it's above where they strive,
Where all is so clear and unruffled,
so light and goyous...
There's a thinnest film wrapped around
the surface,
around the bubles of tunes,
Suddenly it snaps and leaves a jingle
to echo back.
Thousands of those bubbles, of those
bells are liberrating music.
It
doesn't die down.
So light are the splinters of ringing
spray
that they ascend above the world.
That high within the sky they look
so much like a cloud,
A white irreproachably pure one,
The one that the wind makes huddle
behind the horizon,
And later that cioud turns into something
different than ever,
And drops are falling down, falling
down.
The fragments of beauteous balls.
Now listen once again. The waves of
sounds are shining from nowhere.
It looks like a tinkling rain has
dropped on the generous Earth.
And down where it touched it now some
beus have grown.
A cryctal surge flows over the plain,
Its tenderness hurts, its softhess
hurts.