Whiteness -3-

We are lonely white birds,
Crossing the sky to east
And to west, as if touching
Slightly the close clouds,
Flying above the pure
Whiteness of cotton fields,
Whiteness of apple blossoms,
Whiteness of snow hills,

How we are flying alone
But still drops of blood
Are dripping enchantingly
red little dots on the canvas
of life.

© n.nour
---- June 014