This morning

Came again into the morning, and the inside 
swell after a night of dreams restlessness. 
This morning I rang inside me the blues, 
the melody is playing longing. 
The night in a dream house collapsed on top of the hero, 
there was a feeling of despair, the most severe. 

That's how it is one of the morning comes, 
and the other goes over. 
Day rotation in a circle, as the law 
Time drowsy tokenee. 
Mid-summer is hidden here in my arms 
fiery yet is promised for next week. 

Autumn then quietly sneaks past 
August, when the days of the rotation will be darkened, 
and the black darkness thickens. 
Apples are still waiting for the maturing of the 
I also ripened here. 
Ripened solitude without lap. 
I am the hermit, without a world villages.