The role of town abyss
Is measured by a candle.
From tenderness - the keys -
are in an empty bowl.
The sound of fire is lost,
On a thin string - a pain,
It is not mine - the song,
But alien rosin...
the water Day is voiced-
Flowing over stones
And by the path of ice...
In sounds - there is a trap...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem