Poetry

When the grey days of winter loose their colour
and the golden sun at springtime sits in the hazy blue
then I can hear weavers, sparrows and doves
that does twitter and coo
and then you are in your glory my wife
 
when you laugh happy like the summer-sun,
when your fingers pull out weeds
and plant seedlings of new flowers
 
and like a goddess from mythology
you then hold the green
of your own small world in your hands
 
and then I do realise
that our love also is continually sprouting
and do flower without questions,
that the days of our lives
stretch into each season
and up into distance
 
but that our love is perpetual
and can even flower in the worst winter.