I Wish I Knew How to Paint Happiness
by W. Wayne Lin

Tiny pale buds.
Small apple-blush blossom.
Green Gala foliage reflects the light.
Shiny, polished, under the sun.

Their silhouettes drift
and whisper to the wind’s lullaby.
No need to talk.
I can sense how they live these days.

Oval leaves, white-pink petals may pass me by.
Their rosy cheeks dimpled with joy,
hidden in golden grin,
stay in my eyes.
Never failing to wait till I smile back.

I used to walk by the apple tree every day.
One foot taller than me,
still a young one.
We never talk.
Just a look at each other.

When I am away.
Further away.
Now, I am just recollecting.
It seems he starts to tell me,
how happy he has been.
In a language more than words.



 

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