I will never forget my Dad.
When I was a child,
He used to walk with me, sometimes, through the city, by taking my hand into his,
And telling me about all the hills
From his heart.
I spun by the sun
On his hills
And sang -such an amazed and happy child-
About all they could tell me
About life.
Longing, like a bird of leaves,
was always whispering in Dad's eyes.
When returning home,
His heart was going elsewhere.
Those sunny hills meant
Home,
Not the city ...