Wind moves the tree.
So she was moved.
First in the trunk. About the middle.
And finally in the tips.
Lived and loved her.
Shook the motionless tree.
When a standstill shook her.
And froze her to death as a tremor.
Just felt.
Nothing bought.
Branches in the puddle.
Sprouts to foam.
(10.1.2021)
A text-picture, touching, strong and hopeless – two lines of credits…
“..,.Before the sun comes up, you must pierce it in the prince's heart, and when the warm blood splatters on your feet: so these grow together in a fishtail and you become a mermaid again, can come down to us and live your three hundred years, before you die, salty sea foam. Hurry up! He or you must die, before the sun comes up!…”
Hans Christian Anderson 1862
Hauntingly beautiful.