My little flower, the wind derrepente qe me arrebatoó hand, without measuring consequences, I left with empty hands. & Qe perhaps is that flower was never mine; porqe from nature, I try to believe that one day may have been only mine; but escaping from my hands unexpectedly, who knows if esqe can return, never taught me what to do when you were with me, now you qe no qe I have not done, how to recover. It must be that nature wanted to come back to it, is in his own right, if it were born.
As I believe I was something more, if we just stayed with her, observations, their ; colors filled me; & aroma gripped me feel special. Now that I have you, I feel in here that there is something incomplete about me; without that flower you gave me joy., that it was only in the heap. I cut the meadow, by its special glow that intrigued me, how can we forget, if for me it was more than a flower; aunqe comparable in beauty, but more so; a part of my heart that I have no close, I need your cariñoy your heat.
got me walking in a desert where there are no flowers, & even if you have, are the only one able to make me feel that special feeling that the others do not produce flowers.
If I have to ask the wind to bring you back or kneel facing a field of flowers for you just one moment back, give it all because it was like before, take back to the flower between my fingers; knowing that you belong to someone else. Just let me feel your scent again, & get lost in your colors, as was at first.
Nothing compares to the time next to you, now lost;
but I want to come back into existence.
I ask, go back to my beautiful Flowers do not make me more suffering ...
