terça-feira, 5 de janeiro de 2010

My redemption

I know a place where the green ivy grows longer,

no news of the affairs of men

only the occasional sound of fisherman’s whistle.

What is this room?

The sun shines and I boil my tea;

When the moon comes I read stories.

I have no news to report.

Other than to know that eventually I’ll stop chasing.

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