The air is bright,
Expecting people hanging in the park,
I took my camera.
While on the metro I realized,
It won’t be able to capture the early spring delight,
As my heart would see,
Only the veil on my sorrow eyes.
"At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poem." – certainly not by Plato
The air is bright,
Expecting people hanging in the park,
I took my camera.
While on the metro I realized,
It won’t be able to capture the early spring delight,
As my heart would see,
Only the veil on my sorrow eyes.