the stars as usual
are mute
still as beautiful
as the
drifting moon
the old man asks no
questions
wisdom is content
on its sealed lips
it is cold and the night
is longer
when you are waiting for
no one
in the hollow bones of the
hours
something beautiful as always
comes to you without a mouth
and you too has no word to
speak
the choice has always been
a kiss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem