The peak of a long thread

Item arrives in the summer again,
and run on top of the hills,
and listened to the sound
the cuckoo bird.

I then was more something 
to look forward to,
which never it does not show all.
The nights are white, and uranium
the song again splits.
If I could anyway as
my words fly, so I would live
happier life.

Then wrap cumulus clouds
cotton wool, and a night under the stars
blue soft velvet.
No one will never find I
alone in the corner just tremble.
I am a child of sorrow, and tears.
As long barbed wire
this year as has been.