A Bud

             A Bud

A plump, promising bud.

Inside its wrap, it bears 

The brightest lights 

Nature could spare!

A plump, promising bud

Bears

A blooming flood

That wipes my despair!

Very soon, the bud will reveal 

A flower of fucsia paintbrushes,

With luscious white

Finishing touches.

This sacred flower

My garden will embelish,

And my heart will relish

With Her secret powers.

Dini

Happy Birthday, Little Princess!

My sweet little chick,
Pale yellow and pink.
You chirp round the garden
Eager to spread your wings.
You're my lille baby,
Round eyes than grin
Step by step your journey
You're about to begin.
Life will bring places,
And plenty of new faces.
But no tyet, little chick.
Just hold on to my grip.
There'll be time enough to fly
And reach out for the sky!

Melancholia (In Blue And Gold)

Wrapped around
In golden beams
And wings of blue;
As my heart,
So blue:
You shoot up to the sky
To seek a new star
To crown and add
To your glorious badge.
You, true xeneize,
Your roaring yell
Ever so crazy,
Will forever resonate,
For, a soul,
So passionate
Shall never perish.
Your gold and blue star
Shall be replenished.

Amore

Our heartbeats melt in perfect assonance.
Our breaths engaged in the same rhythm.
Our souls, but one...

Forever yours.
Happy Birthday.

Lavender

Pure and clean,
Blue and green,
From fields, immense,
The air you cleanse.
Your scent you exude,
My breathing you soothe.
You vanish my gloom,
Fresh lavender bloom!
Your tiny flowers cure.
You turn everything azure!
You are Nature's precious gift,
For, every spirit, you lift!

Just a Flower

I wonder who has given the name "wild" to such a delicate creation...

A rose, for instance, might be regarded as wild, since it grows thorns like daggers to slash at the approaching touch. 

But a wild flower? 
A delicate, soft, subtle flower? 
A flower that immediately wilts if pulled from its unpretentious spot? 
A wild flower, who opens up in the sun, to splash waysides and fields with colour? 
One cannot call it untamed, when it decorates landscapes with astonishing, instinctive beauty.

A wild flower, not wild, but delicate, soft, subtle is... it's just what it is... a flower.

Cicely Mary Barker's Red Clover Fairy

Dedicated to every Botanist at Heart, every Nature Lover or every Free and Sensitive Soul💗 

Bianca

To my terrible two-year-old.

Bianca

A Baby,
So bright!
With a star 
In each eye.
You offer
Your smile,
And enlight
My whole life!

You are the unexpected,
Yet desired,
Gift from God,
Who must love us 
So much
As to bring YOU
To us!

We love you.
Happy birthday!

How To Make Spicy Peach Crumble On a Sunday Morning

Although it is february (summer in Argentina), today we woke up to a chilly, windy , overcast day. And since my youngest, almost 2-year-old daughter learnt how to escape the safety of her craddle (which used to keep her nicely caged till almost midmorning), now she happily gets up as soon as she opens her eyes. I must say I am far from ready to face her at 7.45 on a chilly Sunday morning. My husband got up and gave her her bottle and tucked her comfortably on the couch to watch blessed baby telly, while he expected to doze off for a little longer. Of course, Bianca got bored and, since she understood she would have to be very creative to make her sleeply mama get up today, she came up with a fantastic idea: "Lets go and stare at mama while she sleeps, but lets get naked! Yes! There is a nice draught that will drive mama completely nuts at the slight possibility of a summer cold and this will surely wake her up!"
Needless to say... that is exactly what she did. I was finally up and about. But being awake on a Sunday morning gives you, at least, the possibility of lenghthening your weekend. As I wished to brighten up my day, I got inspired and prepared a spicy peach crumble which brought sweet smell and hearty delight to all the family... once THEY got up.

A Butterfly

A butterfly, so fragile!

It moves, so agile;

Its beauty, so subtle;

Its glide, so gentle;

Its flutter, so nimble;

Its life, so feeble;

Its soul, so juvenile;

Its fate, so futile...

A butterfly...

So happy to behold,

So sad to let it go!