sure I get in a hole
then I curled
I unscrewed
sure
vibro ringing notes of the guitar as wonderful
English ...
sure I get in a hole and I
keep quiet so they do not hear out
those who want to mow my laughter
Went then I remember all those streets France, and even sometimes stop me in that park in Spain where I saw thousands of kisses with the outspoken guy
then I ran all
these beautiful streets with these wonderful houses in Paris, and all the flowers at the doors of the houses
flew behind my steps
to fill the basket from my hands ...
Then, I remember, I ride the gondola in Venice ... there ...
and your strong hands held me that I might not
but even more, sealed with your kiss my laughter ....
sure I get in a hole and not
dust
pumps or rot can corrupt my soul
not sell me
not
I surrender I do not give up ...
end
gentle hope that the air blow
music that fills every particle
and life
show me once more what
may feel intense soul
a poet who spends dreaming ...
every day! By Janet Camps
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