The man who sits at the edge
of the water
shares the bread
(for you and to the birds).
Familiar with the dream far ago.
He can count when
the lime blossoms crumble
(someone passes to some place
and love is the longest point).
Entire.
Then (i look) it is
maestoso.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
The man who sits at the edge
of the water
shares the bread
(for you and to the birds).
Familiar with the dream far ago.
He can count when
the lime blossoms crumble
(someone passes to some place
and love is the longest point).
Entire.
Then (i look) it is
maestoso.
Request permission to use this poem