She is a journey
To a place I have never been.
Soft wind mixing with fogs.
Thin trees with few leaves
Stationary but still moving more than me.
Small streams that carry sedimentary history
Sweep me away as well.
A magical marshland
Wearing dull autumn colors
On the verge of exploding
With springtime hues.
A place I will only know
In photographs and romantic fantasies.
To say that is fine by me
Would be a lie
But I accept that the best
The world has to offer
Will always fly by
That is my set of
Strange romantic lies.