The night of little stars

             


The green meadows seem to shimmer and lost in a niveous haze,
As if mist was covering the dark woods of graubünden.

The soirée of noël was in the realm of thoughts,
Little leslie was on her way back across,thinking -
Tinsel trimmed Christmas tree and goodies are waiting for me,
Embellished with some yule bells and candy canes' delight,
My heart goes to the feast of turkey,lasagna, and mince pies.

We lost her painting,when she descried an extreme blizzard.
Little leslie disappeared in the dense alpine,
Amid the trees in the illusion of early dawn,
She was all alone in the snowy timberland,
Time was passing through her fist as it was the sand.

The scarlet of the land lies in the mystery of scenes,
She knew of many friends but never heard of a foe.

A salty lake flowing in the magical forest,
Melts me deep down with the placid ice,
She cuts the sliver of her emotions,
And lefts a crying word in the woods,
Jesus,forgive me for the day.

The brume on the bed of frost lits like a shooting star,
A companion came with curly hair and in the age of blue eyes,
That little Angel with the wings was not looking so far,
She was vis à vis with the divine christkind,
On the edge of shivering winter and the Christmas rhyme.

She ran to the end of image nowhere to be seen,
She slipped and fell in a ditch as she slowly died with the wind.