Deep darkness flooded
by a fine whiteness that
resembles the night: this
was my mind’s first dawn
and during the honey-coloured hour
something caressing had
spread softer than
smooth breeze when
it came filled with balsam
of the morning green forests
smoother than soft breeze
and it was in a faraway
land the spring of peoples
and ages: in Thrace.
Libros Libertad 