In my room, a cricket sings his heavy heart.
Outside, his million brothers, star-drunk beneath a lemon tree.
Why these walls? Why his song? Why my clocks, taken apart?
In my room, a cricket sings his heavy heart.
Why alleys? Why walkways? Why my brushes sick from art?
Why my open window and the summer drowsing carelessly?
In my room, a cricket sings his heavy heart.
Outside, his million brothers, star-drunk beneath a lemon tree.
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 12:52 PM UTC
In my room, a cricket sings his heavy heart.
Outside, his million brothers, star-drunk beneath a lemon tree.
Why these walls? Why his song? Why my clocks, taken apart?
In my room, a cricket sings his heavy heart.
Why alleys? Why walkways? Why my brushes sick from art?
Why my open window and the summer drowsing carelessly?
In my room, a cricket sings his heavy heart.
Outside, his million brothers, star-drunk beneath a lemon tree.
2018
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