I will not be here, I will leave
In the soil Wasted like the others
In your favorite cafe
The waitresses will not see me
And on the roads where I walked
My dry cough will not be felt
Above my grave I will remain
silent
A cypress like a raised monk
You will be sad then
That you will not have me in the
living room
And when the wind blows in the
glass
I will cry with the wind slowly
But when you are very upset
On the bookshelf search
I will be hiding there
In any word or letter
It is enough to remove the book
a little
And I will come down and come
to you
You will laugh with longing as
before
As a purchase after a racket!!!
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