Wearing my tattered face.
And carrying a book
of poems by Lorca.
There is at least a hope,
that I can move beyond
the blood, fire and dust.
And where shall I go?
A place of some brightening,
with no sadness in the singing.
As if the days are unborn
Wearing my tattered face.
And carrying a book
of poems by Lorca.
There is at least a hope,
that I can move beyond
the blood, fire and dust.
And where shall I go?
A place of some brightening,
with no sadness in the singing.
A Wandering Poet 