In the yellow and crispy pages, I collected a leaf of spring
Your forehead is full of arc, attracting the kiss of fluff
Perhaps because of the arrival of light, even the locust moth has forgotten its inferiority
Poking its head out of the soil, gazing at the repainted world
All kinds of shoes are the huge monsters it sees
No one can accurately predict when the caterpillar will grow wings
Or follow the arc of the wind and take a nap on the wild daisy
Then, those assertions that honey is the only medal of bees are just absurd
The hand of spring brushes across the awakened eyes and awakens the light soul
Brushing across the long, warm dreams that insects have when they fly over the grass and flowers at noon
About the Creator
Brian Wong
Hello, I'm Brian Wong , a 29-year-old aspiring writer dedicated to weaving captivating stories that resonate with the depths of human experience.
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Comments (2)
Even though you are new to Vocal, I think you have many previous experience on writing fantastic poems!
"No one can accurately predict when the caterpillar will grow wings" I especially loved that line. Fantastic poem!