It's the little things that remind me of you.
The way the tram doors open just a bit too late.
The soft morning breeze that tickles the street flowers,
and the piece of chalk next to the blackboard.
It's the little things that remind me of you.
The way the jam stretctes out over the landing strip of bread.
Or the way the razorblade cut into my chin before lunch.
Even the jagged patterns on a strangers' coat.
It's the little things that remind me of you.
The way a girl walks in the afternoon sun,
two old men playing chess in the park-next to the running children-
or the blue cover of the book I just read.
It's the little things that remind me of you.
The way the street lamps light up the cars on the highway.
The star-shaped figure of the sky on a make-shift Santa Claus at the mall,
The smell of cookies sprinting form my neighbours' kitchen.
It's the little things that remind me of you.
The ones that seem to never go away.
It's the big things that fade away,
In the dusk of our thougts.
2 comments:
prefer partea in romana, nu ca nu as intelege si poeziile in engleza, dar avand in vedere ca nu esti vorbitor nativ de limba, nu cunosti subtilitatile limbii si e cam greu sa ajungi la calitate.Doua scriitoare care au publicate volume de poezie in franceza si engleza mi-au spus. place aia cu ceaiu`.
Oki, mersi de comentariu. Insa nu mi-ai spus clar ce-ti place si nu-ti place in poezie. Nu vreau parerea altora, vreau parerea ta!
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