Curly

The curly pines have bent beside the road. They gaze in wonder at the swift current of water, a red river, the day's sunrise it sets dancing, carries away: to the depths of the distant plains. The curly pines have bent they have stared in wonder: at the rugged rock covered with shining purple plants, at the foot of the reddish river. Powdery snow, among the curls of the pines, like a silver ribbon, has adorned the green tresses. All these images have appeared today. The images come they only come. Without going! Like me! who always only come by every possible road at once, from everywhere, toward your embrace. The pines green, green, staring into the depths of the earth, will remain in wonder...