Читать книгу All my Howling Days are Quiet - Peter Wyss - Страница 8

The grass whispers

to my feet

the leaves sing

to my hands

lost again

in autumn

It seems

I have been walking too long

without making a single step

forward

My wishes

are tired

my feet

hurt

twilight

approaches

Somewhere

along the way

I lost myself

I wonder if

this self

is looking

for me