The order

It was a tender world of different colored poems.
As if colored autumn leaves were dancing above the earth.
I was flying among them by my imagination.

You told me to make an established order to them.
I did not know what the meaning of that was.
You placed the words in alphabetical order.
Perhaps it was a perfect order from your point of view.

But I did not hear music of spontaneity.
The music of the poems faded in the distance.