Poetry

Florentine Boy

He looked outside the window,
Into the quiet morning glow.
The stars that lit up the darkness,
Were stolen by a dream of old.

Thus we parted
like two flakes of snow;
I left in the air a piece of my soul.
Unfinished tale,
Finished in his last smile;
For whom was it written,
To whom should it be told?


Winter, 2013

Mai Ao