Is this the way it must be?
The earth is despair,
singing for one last feeling.
Well then,
while I live.
I will find a sky
for my blanket,
grass for my pillow.
And a way of
loving loneliness.
Where no man worships.
This floating world
Is this the way it must be?
The earth is despair,
singing for one last feeling.
Well then,
while I live.
I will find a sky
for my blanket,
grass for my pillow.
And a way of
loving loneliness.
Where no man worships.
A Wandering Poet 