Welklinkende VrijMiBo
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
as water weeps
as the wind weeps
over snowfields.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps for distant
things.
Hot southern sands
yearning for white camellias.
Weeps arrow without target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords.
Prettig weekend.
En be nice.
Reaguursels
Dit wil je ook lezen
De Oscars in het StamCafé
Hoy-te! Hoy-te!
De kroeg in zonder telefoon, probeer maar eens
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