To my Younger Reader
My younger reader,
I'm writing this poem to you
and I'm turning it a little
in quick water.
I'm making eyes for it,
I'm making legs,
I'm giving it a dream
to fly.
When you turn the key
in the lock of the gates,
you can see, coming to you,
my poem on skates.
And it runs very quickly,
with its colorful soul,
on its way
from village to town
from town to village.
You are trying to catch it,
but it is flying away
and you are chasing it at late hours;
it lets you free your imagination
to caress it through the flowers.
Bobeanu Petruţa
