Stretched like a mountainGalloping wild like a horseBeware of the shadowsThey lurk in the darkThe promise beheld in their fatesWho shall win the raceCalmer than the quietAnd enchanted like the magicThe one who wears the mark&nbsp;Their touch will bring the sparks&nbsp;

whispers

flowers blooming in my garden&nbsp;but spring is still not here

spring

The wind was painfully blowing, making sounds like someone's sorrow is being chanted. Low mourns were coming from the animals making the sorroundings more disturbing and ruptured. A body was taking its last breadth and remembering its wonderful days of youth and loving memories “In the next life I must live well”.

springonion_

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