Sointula

The World is at the heart of

sometimes too scary

breathe some people

are a sick evil.

Dictators always somewhere

people's lives monitor.

I secretly hid

Sointula its café culture

the shadows. I do not have them

people who can

belonging to one of the finished

tray. Sometimes, maybe wardrobe

a corner of your retreat

will build.

Young and old people

I shake hands. I express

silently hoping my name

that strange new types

The poet slippery me

hour.

Always talk things or the next.

I see a beautiful man

through the door finish.

He smiles to me,

and most cordial shaking hands.

I'm going home

he repeatedly asks

Do not go yet.

I will go even still overwhelmed

I was his eyes, and gaze.

Maybe sometimes we still somewhere

is encountered, it remains the case to my mind

the ailment.

Yet the industry to bury their own digging,

I'm already half dead

even though I breathe, and

poem steed in the morning light

new shoes shod foot.