Recantiga

And it was the scattered leaves, very resentful throughout the year
Gathering one by one among the pine needles back to the branch

And it was at night the thunderstorm that filled that dead puddle in the downpour
Suddenly, bouncing back, reshaping into seven clouds drop by drop

And, all of a sudden, the river, in a whirlpool, climbing the hill
And, running against the current like from back to front returning to the source

A pile of scattered cards collapsing into a castle
And it was the line of a life being gathered back into the ball

And it was those silly things, the insults that I say and regret
Coming back to me, as if they were patched up

And it was me, a fallen bird in the nest waiting for the end
And you were, finally, coming back to me