-
Unless to you, to whom should I praise love?
-
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
-
I hear something coming,
-
Let the heart’s pain slack off
-
The arctic blasts say fight.
-
Sun makes the day new.
-
Rilke wrote, “That I gently wipe away the look of suffered injustice sometimes hinders the pure motion of spirits a little.”
-
I’ve oft returned to this thought,
-
I would love to live
-
And in the mirror is a fire
