Whispers in the Wind

Love is when the flowers smell just a little louder.

The birds—they chirp in lilacs a tone or two up higher.

When you smell the thoughts behind the word or two they say.

The fragrance or their charming smile is never far away.

The spark their eyes are carrying is colour from your dreams.

No swindling, no lies, no games - it’s always what it seems.

Love is when you physically just go about your day,

but heart and mind and soul are still a thousand miles away.

When autumn’s rain and wind are singing soft instead of sharp,

you slowly trust them caring for your bruised up tiny heart.

And moonlit night has never been so friendly before him.

The piney shadows dancing on the pale’n’white beach rim.

Dark and foamy waves have now a warmer wing to show.

A while ago I only heard an omen echo slow.

Love is when the therapy is hearing sound of laugh.

Worth more than golden jewlery is handmade juniper giraffe

Dueting with the laundry and hoovering the floors,

showcases adamantly us when less is truly more.

It’s when red turns into burgundy and blue ends up as teal,

when green is now viridian and rainbow’s white is real.