The Sharp-edged sword, is my pen.
Inviting a wind until the very last day.
Then I shall disappear into the clouds.
And behold the moon, so dear to us.
But my soul, remains forever yours.
No longer returning to emptiness.
The strange death of a poet
The Sharp-edged sword, is my pen.
Inviting a wind until the very last day.
Then I shall disappear into the clouds.
And behold the moon, so dear to us.
But my soul, remains forever yours.
No longer returning to emptiness.
A Wandering Poet 