Like the scarf flowing out from the small window of her carriage,

the clouds float swiftly in the sky.

Peasants  are not meant to love or be loved,

Still I fell.

Fell into a love as deep as my heart..

But the white scarf  waves a goodbye..

And I live in pieces. Like glass that shattered on the floor.

Each  piece reflecting a different memory..

sun, rain, soothing green and a storm

Which one of these is the truth? The mind might know but the heart doesn’t.

And it is always the heart, most difficult to unlock.

Take too long to find the key…

and the lock rusts.