The flowers are dead in our garden...

The chest of my eagle is yellow chrome His tongue sings the sweetest love songs with his beak he makes silver and pours it on to the earth As if a million angels are flying down from the sky and reflecting the face of my beloved on to the lake the face of the lake is my mirror I look and see thy face The one I’ve fallen in love with I’m so desperate to see face to face Home sickness defeated me I miss my home The smell is so different from the flowers in my garden my love awaits me next door However, the forest I walk is here And the mountains I climb/ the green grass once upon a time I jumped on... is there! The Five-finger Mountains which I used to climb is there... What has happened to our cottage? Where the hell is our beautiful roof gone? The flowers are dead in our garden... Gunsel Djemal 1/6/2009 Bromley Road- London