In My Village

In My Village

In my village time goes fast.
One flock of birds has just flown away
When another arrives.
The wind whispers to my scarf:
Summer is coming.
Summer is coming.
Midday, two quails chase each other
into a thicket of weeds.
I watch mother-of-wheat grass
bolting wild already in May.
If anyone else stops to see what I see
I will accept that as a way of loving me,
in my village
where candlelight shows the way
for night song that wafts through the window.
You can go there,
for the scent of roses in the twilight,
for the river that flows endlessly in moonlight.