comments 6
Stepping stone,
Wonderful ears
They hear the music
While I swing along.

Back and forth,
Like a little child
That sleeps
And does not want
To get woken.

Like a song
That does not end
In innuendo.

Wonderful years
They go away
Like a sad song,
Like the slipping rain.
Stupid fears,
Those hectic lives,
The bells go wild.

The Author

Woman. Floaty. Attached. Dettached. Sudden. Note-scribbler. Citizen of the world. Travelling to the moon and back.


  1. This is very relevant and true. I have come to admire your whimsical pieces. They are so well written and every monochrome that accompanies your words are actually insightful. Beautiful.

    • Dear Shanyu, thanks for your kind words, I am really delighted to read this. Sometimes
      it feels as if we could foresee the future. I hope the whimsical is to
      be interpreted in a positive angle? 🙂 Have a nice evening

      • My absolute pleasure A! It does feel that sometimes. It can be quite unnerving at times though.
        The whimsical is as positive as it could be. Charming and light hearted.
        Have a fantastic week.

        • hmm. I was definitely not meaning to be disconcerting. definitely not back then when i saw the poem. the bells were literally going wild. that sound is unnerving. still. there is light. 🙂 you too, thanks for your benevolent early morning words. I mean it.

  2. in any case -and ad those bells going wild – wonderful years should not go away like a sad song, and that can be interpreted in whichever way we choose, but that is my current reading, and i guess the purpose of that poem at that time too. Our choice is normally true to our gut. And we are allowed to make mistakes. that is why we should not overthink too much 🙂

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