Anemones

That day, on either hand
Of the narrow track
Anemones lay in millions,
Lighting the valley
With celestial whiteness
— A Milky Way of flowers.

We walked the Milky way
And listened to the birds,
Invisible as stars in daytime
In the young treetops,
Singing their delicate songs
Like Music of the Spheres.

Today not a flower remains.
The wood is just a wood.
Birds, after all, just birds.