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Hunting the future

Like a child
with the nose
pressed to the window,
she admires the world
as a big cake
with cultural linger.
Her tiny footsteps
in the historybook
will throw light into coming centuries,
and the smell of iris
will be the proof
of her path.
I cry
because I can not
follow her,
the bird which flies
living in the future.
Left I am,
for only pressence in pressent
I know.
I can do
but gather roses
thrown on the stage
when she
left the sceene.

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[an error occurred while processing this directive] Poetry by Kenneth Sorensen
Dikt av poeten Kenneth Sørensen