THE SUN IN THE SPRINGS

When longing vanished in wishful thinking,
fruit trees dreamy in the area of ​​the window of the room. Like a picture of leaves hanging hanging like a calling, like a guava tree in Mother's house. Up, up. Slipping, sometimes falling.

My hand reaches out, holds the branch. Clinging, crying. Mother ran all love hugging.
Thank you, mother. That time, your love seeped beautifully into this conscience. Nian my heart is cheerful.
Miss Want to go home to see childhood. To the park, dolanan hide and seek among the trees. If it's hard to find Mother, I pretend to sob.
Mother patted her shoulders slowly from behind, I, immediately turned hugged hugging. Laughing cheerfully at the beautiful garden sparkling in the eyes of the Mother.
God, can I be small again, enter the womb of the Mother. I want to be born again. Want to be spoiled in all the warmth of affection Mother's love.
Cook what Mother today huh ... As if served in front of me.
Surely, at this hour, Father was still busy cultivating life despite the age of passing the dusk of the beach in the red gathering orange orange horizon of hope.

Daddy carried me on my back, waving his strong hand to the beach friends throwing anchor.
In September I have to go home.
Fragrant fruit trees passed for a moment, as if from the backyard of a childhood home. Butterfly garden, wild jasmine groves grow freely.
Mother? Still want to ... Catch one butterfly for me. Release it on my palm.
"A beautiful colored butterfly like you." Sounds Mother, patience is, as cool as the morning dew, always reassuring.
Sisters three men cheer. Bumping the youngest son was riding on my back. Mother always catch the youngest, two brothers fight to climb back.
The smell of soil hopes of giving the scent of love is always in between laughter.

I will go home ...