Her frantic goodbyes and kisses
Of sunshine hold eyes. She is
A persistent one.
Day or night she hisses and puffs,
Stretches white fingers to climb on
Smooth hard stones, come threatening
Always to abandon the fish for dry
Unknown. What I can't understand is,
Why doesn't she quietly come?
P.S.: Sometimes, a poem comes from fragments of different dreams from a distant past, or from your memories of some old children poems.