The days seem fleeting, lost to morning's haze,
Each new one veiled in dew-kissed emerald,
Where rain-washed heads in misty silence graze,
A world of whispers, softly unrevealed.

Time slips like water through an open hand,
A fleeting glimpse of moments gone too swift,
Across the meadows, over sea and land,
A fragile beauty, like a precious gift.

The sun ascends, dispelling morning's shroud,
Yet memories linger of the misty start,
Where nature's secrets softly spoke aloud,
And touched the quiet chambers of the heart.

So let us cherish every fleeting day,
Before it fades, and gently slips away.

Tomaž Jevšenak