Memories Storm

 


Standing
waiting,
the old Muse
is out there crying.
Looking from the
window's kitchen,
the hands covered
with the white
soft
flour.
Standing, cooking,
the old soft
flavours
of her lost
old love,
she stands there
crying all the sad lost
memories
storm.

 

 


My warm
city
all made of gold
is calling me,
Tagus
the misterious river
is full of new little
boats
she says,
some navy sailors
smiling ,
some girls,
the eternal story
of love;
Lisbon is calling
to the eternal
swing
and above
the sky;
Bluecity blue
sings
and Spring
around.

 

 

 

 
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