The mail was heavy
from my home place,
It traversed this crowded city,
with my father’s fingerprints.

My heart was a vine
with love I was hunting for;
and a long trace of footprints of the past.

Under that old elm tree,
they were smiling to me.
with mottled sunlight in their faces.

They were clinging to each other,
like branches of the elm tree,
shed their shade around.

When I pondered into this precious picture,
My recall stretched out to that home.

As a leave with a butterfly’s wing,
I left the love tree behind.
For a dream of a love seed
and a bird of freedom.

They never waded farther than me,
and the mail followed as a shadow.
The love I lost in this far place,
blew a wilted leave to home.