Quietly falling
The butterflies are caught
By their gentle wings.
A breeze gently blowing,
A stream swiftly flowing,
Birds lightly crowing,
Leaves fall as if it’s snowing.
In a forest like a dream,
Where even dull things seem to gleam,
Where angels go to dine,
On nectar flowing down from vines,
Where evil goes to die,
And joy freely flies.
You’ll spend the rest of time,
Eating food and drinking wine,
Happy as a buzzing bee,
Or a fish in the open sea.
Art & Content © 2026 Victor Anton Munteanu Ciurușniuc