Source of image of pixabay
They are memoirs of words, that fills with life the heart, which lights the eye of the blind justice, I am like the flower of since I am a simple plant, up to becoming a flower that one falls down to him the petals, the time will say my age of my soul, I am only in a garden that has lost his elegant, alone sleep in those new flowers of hope, which will be in grounds of divine vigor, only he stays to wait for the hand that the minder with conscience, since the time devours the life, like the dark enemy that we do not see but it is latent in the air that breather, me roots are like the blood of glory of life, which grows inside stronger me.
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Hope is the last thing to be lost!
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