I feel sick
A sheet you lay on?well,
Its been washed since
The snow sings
To the swaying trees
Children do
Their indian immitations
Indoors.
Dry yellow tobacco
Drops to the floor.
Haven't got
much left now.
But still,
Polished words?.
Shiny remnants
Of our future dreams?
Here you touched me
In this corner we kissed.
It's as if
I had a talent for being hurt
Alone at night
(in our deserted
beautiful country
in which
only trees seem alive)?
These are your tears,
Rubbed off on me.
My time is past;
But still I must continue