by anahit arustamyan God! Your Son cherishes this world.
He left His blood in the soil. That’s why a poppy is red on a green slope.
No lightning is a burning rope. The sky’s nerves may float in any rain drop.
God! Your Son’s glow is on the highest top.
His glow reaches a small snowdrop.
Rainy days come and go to let the sun to show its gold comb.
O, sins, whose skin is ironed instead of the clothes?
God! Your Son makes a candle give its light to a newborn hope. There are billions of pillows beneath the soil.
The soil takes nothing to spoil.
The soil turns a snowflake to a snowdrop.
God! Your Son gave his heart to the world. That’s why there’s a pulse even in the smallest pond.