THE MONTH OF MAY / Poem by Maria do Sameiro Barroso

 
Poem by Maria do Sameiro Barroso
 
 
THE MONTH OF MAY
 
May arrived punctually as if there were
an appointment between the mystic
of flowers and thunderstorms of silence,
bringing roses, linden flowers
and tasty red cherries.
The morning dew whispered the encounter
between time and me.
I was born on May 12,
the swallows were returning from the last migration
of warm atmospheres.
May has always been so happy and sad,
like an anniversary day.
When I was a child, May was the fantasy
of a little old chapel where novenas
echoed in the evening.
On the way, I stared at an old mansion,
rambling roses on walls covered by ivy,
moss and lilies.
The apple trees bloomed
and the peaches were ripe in my eyes.
In the little chapel, there were linen towels,
the martyrdom of S. Victor-o-Velho
was intertwined with the scent of roses,
apple blossoms and the mystique of incense.
and a silver rosary on a day I didn’t believe
in the bluish transparent sky.
May arrived punctually, like a bird, a fruit,
the days consisted of songs, rituals,
between a prayer, a harp, a shelter,
a vegetable splendour.
The waters flowed from the old alleys
into the lakes lying under my heart.
May a punctual call, a cyclical walk
among hymns of life.
 

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