I am currently sitting at a computer class at our school, being taught how to create online lessons for my pupils. The problem is, most of my colleagues in the group are considerably older than me and have to face far more difficulties handling the computer.
It is OK, of course, for somebody not to know something, or for somebody to work at a slower pace... But - god, I am soooo bored! I was just surfing the Web, doing nothing in particular, and found this piece of poetry of mine which I put together in September, on a sunny, dewy autumn morning while walking to school. It is about some of my earliest childhood memories, when father used to take me for a walk to a small forest (which is, actually, a park, but was a huge mysterious forest back then) at the seaside.

***

It is, indeed, the very keenest pleasure
to smell the morning grasses damp with rain,
with sparkling drops luxurious as summer
herself, in rich green gowns embroidered and perfumed
with lilac, nettles and the yellow flowers
which grew about the short roads of my childhood.

In clumps they grew, and smelled of bitter honey,
the yellow thicket buzzing with the bees
below the pines which oozed the amber resin
with sea as their eternal salty background.
The name of these I constantly forgot,
but smell endured, as among the curl'd roots
I recognized the duck, the ram, the monkey,
the hound with muzzle elegant, and more,
and numerous were beasts, and birds, and dragons,
but these four I remember as if now
I was still standing on the road with pebbles
and stones with mica sparkling at my feet.
These four, my favourites, I see them still from here,
and recognize them without straining eyes,
but with the memory of heart and clear vision
of child, still lingering among the pines.