what you hear in the echoes in the treetops in the silent voices of the void

that's what I bring

that's what's left in my clean glass of my transparent soul

it remains in the beats of my heart that sing a song

with the butterflies flying with the sun in my hands

with a warm illusion

I come to you to be filled again

to start living again

maybe like a clover waiting for something extraordinary

or maybe like bees

determined to mate in the honeycomb flying sweetly

between delicate petals and fine roses

or maybe as a great sigh that reaches the sky

and become a star.