My days are like my poems; gray and tasteless. They often asked me to throw them from over the bridge, but I was an old lover who could not drink his coffee without passion. They have wide hearts, just like the big cows I have seen in the old city, and without any delay, I have faded into their very watery souls. Those souls, which you may see in the old mirrors, can say nothing but silence because they are, like my land, do not know anything about love. So I will bring a jar of smiles to color their gray face.