My mother and roses
When that rose, which does not bloom in spring and summer, blooms, my mother's smile is more beautiful than a rose in autumn. There is the sound of a rose in our mother's smile. Enthusiasm calls it his name.
Roses are growing in our garden. with pain. Our mother is still happy. To their growth. To reveal yourself. Heves calls it his name.
Roses are growing in our garden. Our mother is growing up. Every day she looks out the window at the roses. The yellow rose, crouched in the shade of vines and oleander, is drinking. "That rose remained in the shade and did not open itself. Because the heart that does not look at the light closes".
My mother is whispering with roses in her dreams. In your heart is a rose of time that never began. He says that the bud of that time will open with the light. Light is enthusiasm.
My mom and me. We are a rose. A lingering enthusiasm.
My mom and me. We are in the process of a rose.
My mom and me. We are the yellowest of roses.
We call it Enthusiasm