Its time for birds humming and butterflies.
thousands of sadness became songs. Saxophone
spraying the rain between glass, cigarette smokes
and more jokes (you call it's dread) of us.
Outside a scrambling people insist to do some debates
and planing program by program
like development in long phrases
that tremble trees and flowers
like politicians in the wet seasson: soaked
and fruitless
\Its time for tender world and sweetie night.
The home sweet home, golden sparkling sweet tea
and pure water. Piano clinking like coins
slipping away from trouser's sack
of our children memory. It's time
\for the birds humming
and butterflies