Comments about Nero CaroZiv
Hills and dales of ancient land, bleak, barren and glaring
Where my thoughtless, happy hours beguiling childhood strayed,
How the sand with ages of patina on me is warring,
Howl, moan winds of the past above my tufted shade!
No more, gone the days I went out on an April morning
All alone, for my heart was high with the wind sigh
I was a child of the shining meadow, tulips on hill, and willow low in mourning
No cloud on vast blue heaven, just this sapphire eye of the sky.
Now in the windy winter flood of morning in rear
Longing lifted its weight from ...
Oh That It Were Possible
Oh that it were possible
After long grief and pain
You walk in the path of amiable
Innocence and repentance plain
And your bare sole
Will touch the field scudding chaffs
The meadow wheat elongated spikes will dagger your soul
And the wind will blow your skirt in halves