some time just want to be old and to know all that is there
in this silence of unquestionable future where words doesn't need to spread much further
like trees that knowing the fall will come
preparing for the lost of their leaves again.
delicate skin exposed to the sunlight,to the rains ,to all that wish to see or touch.
with the strength of spring wisdom,
every vain of the roots is perfectly blend in the familiar soil.
in this unchanging home,with no replace for this ground,
i hear the blessed aging sound.