I missed the trolley and the hope.
Pale, I go back home.
The street is useless and no car
would drive over my body.
I will climb the slow steep slope
where paths are blended
All of them lead to
the beginning of drama and flora.
I do not know if I am suffering
or if is someone having fun
(and why not?) in the scarce night
with an insoluble piccolo.
And we, long time ago
shouted yes! to eternity.
Comments about this poem (Lost Hope by Carlos Drummond de Andrade )
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