Stone
B
0
Altın Yaprak
in the end life is swept clean
like the polished stones
of a spring water creek
elements of happiness and pain
drift downstream
leaving behind the stolid soul
like a stone it does not feel
like a child it waits
like an old man it observes
my hands embrace the waters
I wash my fevered brow
a stone gazes upon a stone
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş