elder laurel
I wrote it one month ago and never published it
Do you remember the little brown sparrow,
That day by the fountain, whose water was cold?
Its wing was a thread that the summer had frayed,
A small, breathing secret my two hands could hold.
And you stood so silent, your shadow was still,
As I talked to the bird in a whisper too low,
A language of heartbeats, a fragile, soft thrill
That only the water and you came to know.
Then—suddenly—well! And it flew from my palm,
A leaf on the breeze, to the lime-tree’s high dome.
And the spell was broken. And, laughing, like dawn,
We were children again, and the palace was home.
Through the long, gilded halls, a breathless, bright chase!
Your footfall behind me, a promise, a play…
Till we fell in the grass, in that sun-dappled place,
With the dew of the evening beginning to lay
A veil on the clover, a pearl on my hair,
And the world was a whisper, and you were its soul.
That day is a fountain, forever flowing there—
A water so clear, it could make a man whole.
Now the fountains I have are of marble and gilt,
And their speeches are long, and their cadence is planned.
But the one that I drink from was born of that silt,
From the sparrow you trusted, the touch of your hand.
Written by Sisi
17 October '25
Vienna
nova swan