Poem: Spring of poems

A tribute to the Dutch blooming season

I hear the sequined sounds 
of the birds returning home.

Their lips sing the life growing 
among sun-traced windmills
and thawing tulip fields.

For they already sense 
the fragrance of the flowerbeds,
replacing the crunchiness
of the flying bare branches.

Slowly, the gap between 
contentment and confinement widens,
along with the one between 
morning and evening twilights.

It makes me remember,
with my eyes closed 
and the sunlight captured in my smile,
that I also deserve 
the harmonious coexistence of flowers 
and the serene sleep of the clouds.

At any moment now, 
the unforgettable may be 
quietly weaving itself.

The postcard season is about
to blossom before our eyes.

Image from @rouachan_world on pinterest

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©Izabella Casagrande, 2025. | All Rights Reserved

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