in a summer house, we are sitting at a table.
I remember this day, when the uncle was with us.
He made potato dumplings, with big plums.
he gave them for us, on the plate
so that we praised what we are eating
and his culinary abilities.
potato dumplings were lightly sour. poured with butter,
sprinkled with the sugar, it tasted delicious.
and after the food, we rested on the terrace
in surrounding blooming flowers.
in the small pond, small fishes swam.
I felt a slight puff of wind and the sough
when it were gushing out to the lawn of water,
from green sprinkler, placed on the path
to home of my childhood.
a memory remained for us… living.
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