Like a deaden alley
Ill of crossing
No breeze, no sonnet
And an accident night so bitter
Lane full of snow
The red story
Yellow looking
Me and a pain
And a talkitive crow
On a cold roof
At the end of lane
No noctivagant, no light
Me and this fever
No way to go back
No way to save
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem