the sunflower

The sunflower thrives when the riverbed flows,

And it does not lack nor want, but simply thrives.

The cicada sings when the rains pour down,

And it does not think of the dry season that comes.

The coral reef swells when the tide washes high,

And does not fear that it may ever be low.

This is how I loved you, at first, unaware that you were

my sea, my water, my rain and my sun.

The rush of life and the smile on my lips,

The red in my cheeks and the spring in my step.

And now that it is dry and the river does not rush,

I know even greater the space you possess,

And the life that you give to a daffodil that would otherwise wilt.


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