Every year there are about fifty or more victims; They drowned and never returned.
Where you hide them in your precious muddy bottom?
I see the old ferryman and his blind dog cross the river and I wait at the bank to hear more news of the missing souls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mysterious and a bit chilling. Great atmosphere in this one. This is a very good poem. Always your friend, Sandra