The flowers on the stream move so slowly,

so gently.

A strange dance with the waves.

Hardly anything can remove these flowers

as they are the souls we meet on the street,

the souls we hear talk in the bus

or the souls of our friends cheering a game.


Nothing can erase the memory,

what's there is there

and that cannot be changed.

Time flows and the flowers with them.

And in someone else's mind in another part of the city,

I, myself, blossom as well.