She sat on my steps one morning, blown here
By the wind of good fortune; a shivering leaf
Of spring.

I led her into my house gave her a bath of foamy Essence,
Made of collected dreams and my house
Became a golden palace.

She stayed in my bed for seven days, till I opened
The window wide and away she flew
On transparent Wings made of angel’s silk

She will soon on an old man’s steps,
if he hasn’t Forgotten to dream,
Keep his flame of hope alive
For a week or two.