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maanantai 16. tammikuuta 2017

Ode to January


The atmosphere is stale
and the pain nerves pounds
the muscles of the strands stick
does not help the pain
none of the drug is not even red wine.
For the first time I
I think gloomy thoughts
a wide one phrase.
When the morning comes mutilated
helplessly scratching their heads.
Do they think that they
is a matchstick fingers
in sulfur and scratching
fingertips kindle a fire.
I to the world of liver
my own taxes, and the old
time model in the summer collect
a heaped spoonful of wild strawberry container.
Oh, arrive here in spring
for a moment you were the only good friend.
I am in shock from the kicks
life, still, I will still be here
your troops will fight.
January winds scents
carefully sniffed.
The moment yet and February Ice Pearl
hung on the neck of the Queen of winter
I wind ravaged the fascia board
stick back to the local nail.
In March it tastes willow cats
yesteryears, and the willow flute remember
Yesteryears childhood garden paths.
I blew my mind again
willow whistle, and I remember childhood
tunes the notes model.
Oh too familiar with Mana's son
do no longer near me in my minor-key
call melodies. Do not lift the scythe
shock death, for I have
too dry source of tears.
I can not cry anymore, I do not mourn
the remaining life for me
longer than the old dried food residue.


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