Enigma

The meadows are blooming in my heart —
From early morning — fragrant and spellbinding…

Sweet-smelling stacks of hay are piled high,
Like grains of gold fetched by divine gold finders.

The sturgeons play in radiant water streams,
Waves washing their backs with fluid silver…

And then come night time a bonfire gleams,
Its genial flames bewitching and dreamweaving.

So was this true… a phantom… or a dream? —
Its meaning ever being an enigma!

I won’t forget this ever: in this scene
I felt your presence and could read you signal.