///
One day these bricks and buildings were meadows
These fields the processions of spring garden
One day on these meadows used to play the cowboy’s melancholy flute
These fields the playground of the furious grasshoppers
These bricks were rivers
These buildings processions of water
In these rivers the moon's dispersion played on the uprising waves,
How softly the sailor sang his lonely song, disappearing within the shadows!
Travelers,
Have I told you a fairy tale?
///
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
///
One day these bricks and buildings were meadows
These fields the processions of spring garden
One day on these meadows used to play the cowboy’s melancholy flute
These fields the playground of the furious grasshoppers
These bricks were rivers
These buildings processions of water
In these rivers the moon's dispersion played on the uprising waves,
How softly the sailor sang his lonely song, disappearing within the shadows!
Travelers,
Have I told you a fairy tale?
///
Request permission to use this poem