Cast in the shape of scent or suggestion;
over, along night’s avenue streaming,
as hope or moth above street-lamp flying,
paradise flutters the evening air.
Is it the almond’s coral bay
which beckons both the heart and eye
to fabled continents of pearl
where paradise gardens sway with the wind?
Caught in a crochet of leaves and tresses-
a conjured trellis of gold and green-
close to the touch yet not for touching,
paradise hovers an inch out of hand.
So April ends and the charm is over.
One dawn within the shaken boughs
we find a death’s-head choked with blossom….
paradise gardens fall in the wind.
Derek Stanford
1918
There was a time Indian Lilac blomming daringly in a summer. But before that flowers were even waiting to bloom, there was a person who listened someone's secret dream.
What could be the dream of a little girl three years ago? Whom did she trust and open her heart? Now, these are not important at all. Whom, did I trust? May I ask myself again. Is there a posibility she can manage with? It is not important at all. However, the only important thing is to carry on.
One may not notice that receiving trust from someone is a responsibility to maintain the trust. With a heartfull of love and a pocketfull of dreams,
Pan Pon Pyin
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