A floral cascade, a shower of grace,
Falls softly now upon your destined space.
A silent plea, a whispered, tear-filled sigh,
As you, within, yourself, do lie.

For what transgression, what unseen offense,
This self-imposed, consuming, deep suspense?
The snowflakes dance, a fragile, fleeting art,
Upon the shore, a frozen, whispered start.

The waves, they groan, a rhythmic, mournful sound,
Against the rocks, where secrets are unbound.
A timeless battle, fought through endless night,
Between the sea and shore, in fading light.

And in this quiet, where shadows softly creep,
You ponder guilt, and what it means to weep.
The world outside, a canvas, vast and grand,
Reflects the turmoil in your inner land.

This floral deluge, a cleansing, gentle rain,
A moment's peace, before the storm again.
The waves' lament, a symphony of pain,
While snowflakes whisper, secrets of the plain.

Tomaž Jevšenak