Now I continue with my photographs of spring-flowers in yellow colour. I found a very nice poem many years ago:
The first heralds of spring have the finest colours, flowers and leaves moistened with dew.
I drink this cup of wine that brings forgetfulness putting to flight all earthly cares.
Alone, I raise the cup to my lips: more wine is poured in when the cup is empty.
And at sunset there is all silence, while the birds come back twittering to their nests.
Beneath the balcony I cry bitterly towards the East, content, now that my humble life can continue.