Monday, 24 April 2017

In this city whose charms have fled

I took a walk along ruins painted red

Among the ruble I picked a letter and it read

“Here in the damp of a lost war

On a paper soaked with blood and sweat

And a pen with a burnt end

I write this letter to you

Is how the end of my days is spent

The pen grows heavier than my gun

For homely regards absent love

Would be just ink stains upon some line

I would set it on a raven’s claws

And whisper your name to its ears

But all this love will tire its wings and weigh it down

So I set it on the wings of hope

And pray it gets to you someday

If I shall fall to my foe

Gather what remains of me

Plant a whistling pine on my grave

And engrave on my headstone these words

‘Here from the depths rises his soul’

Think of me always

When you sit under its cool shade

Listening to its symphony against the wind

Think of me always

I deserve that of you

For having always thought of you

How to make you happy

Be so”
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