lauantai 10. tammikuuta 2015

Warm or cold

There will be more firewood
I point blank,
if not improved in terms of fire ever.
Men, women, so few
my soul spark left.
In the night alone in the
drum will sound balance sheets,
a storm arises, and
crying moaning whirlwind.

A man who confused woman
the head, I'm as old wine.
Ripened quietly, quietly heating up,
who wants to ignite the flame,
sparking a reliable heart?

A sense, as a spark,
to turn off the wind,
only whether a wood embers?

Hermit's life, the author
rhymes depend on the hole.
I dream, skating,
there Ivalo River on the ice.

I'm a kid again,
maybe the happy moment,
like a whirlwind over the ice
ice skating. How did the hollow
is of shy man's head?
At all understands
when the fruit is ripe.
Picking up berries,
or is it sour it?

Warm cold, nothing
tomorrow, do not know,
I do not get there wheat.

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