he falls asleep
rocking himself on
a molave
chair
he is the model
of life in
old exhaustion
his mouth is open
the wind enters freely
his hands on the arm
of a chair
his feet on the marble
railing of the
veranda of the house
hard and cold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
14 thousand poems KEEP TRUCKIN friend - POEWHIT