The eve blossoms like a clump of oleander
In the memory that floats in from far
a song is wandering in the woods
I smell the aroma of jasmine on terrace
At the time, the bird of sunlight
flapping its burning hot wings
The wind from the tropic
whistling like a pigeon
The spider plant softly hangs long green hair
Outside the window, a linen white skirt
hanging on a red rope
The dark green of fir is like a nightgown
gently embraces your sleeping body
The murmur of smashed flowers flies in your dream