It is an old story to follow the cycles of nature and to rearrange the same things by the laws and interests of time and season.

A new tree will grow near an old one, but never in the same place, like the assets gained by the individuals of one generation are often used by other individuals far from kin.

What is eternal are the structures and their functions, what can be substituted are the people that are elements of those structures, who are secure are the people who own and control structures, who are selected by qualities and qualification are those who come in line with the temporary or general trends that lead mankind to open or secret aims.

In line with the world’s breeding the latest relationships in the closed socio-economic conditions of the crowded places, to evolve the human nature as to the availability of assets conquered or abstained, in the preparing for the closeness of the space colonies where effort will be totally engaged in the moving, using, adapting, or recycling of available common assets; and in line with the freedom of the earth’s countryside from human life and cultivation until there comes the moment to harness its potential in the future universal projects, here is my poem of yesterday that may be my poem of tomorrow too:

It Is Still Morn
I took off just one skin, a nylon wind-shield jacket
The people did accept it as the essence of my life
It is still morn, the grass is tall, lush, lavish
All sprinkled with dew drops like tears climbing up

I took off one more skin, all crusted, hard and ashy
The people saw in it a worker passing by
It is still morn, the grass is blooming freshly
A pond of tiny specks, a bunch of blossoms white

I took off a third skin, the one that gives life credit
Adornment to my taste, respect to norms and crowds
It is still morn, a tree is young, leafed, playing
The patch of green is tramped by city dogs homebound

I took off a fourth skin, the one that screened my body
A lovely poem showed up its shy and dew-washed face
It is still morn, my poem breathes the grass fresh-mown
Someone takes off his hat and bows his heart’s grace
V.P.T. 15.04.2009
V.P.Toucheva 16.04.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU