What would it be
To have on the wall
A picture of a mud hole
With pigs flying free?

Can you imagine
Lying on the bed
Staring at the ceiling
At fluffy clouds flying?

Wouldn’t it be wonderfully
For you to see pigs fly
From a corner up high
Winging to your sky?

I sit alone in this room
In a hand having a spoon
Imagine I pick some mud
On a pig I leave a spot.

I give them treir pink color
Different wing every hour
They’r smiling and squeling
Through soap bubbles breathing.

Happy I picture that
My mind has gone wild
They are my creation
Alive in my imagination.

25 martie 2005, Constanþa