Can I remember a time when I thought that trees were just green?
Do I know of a sunrise, or sunset, that doesn't make my soul ache?
Is there always this fire in my gut?
Have these burning fingers always belonged to me?
Was there ever a second when there was not a word for something?
Can I remember a day when I did not write?
Should I hold this moment now to cry at the stars?
(The print is by Gedeon Peteri - Summer Solstice)