Wanderlino Arruda

Almost pregnant of sunlight
and of an illuminated essence,
my Spring walks,
towards a waiting Summer.

If November is just coming,
I know that December won’t be long,
the weather smells of change.
The calendar, linking day and night,
never misses, never errs,
because it lives in certainty.

There will always be a today,
there will always be a tomorrow.
What isn’t present, is past,
what isn’t past, is future.

How wonderful is a spring Summer!