My whispering poems My treasures My arch images My treasures They honour me Dead,
creaking trees They praise me Mute, mossy
rocks They worship me Empty shells Why exalt a man murdered by his own muse To prevent
him from turning in his grave?
HomageMy whispering poems My treasures My arch images My treasures They honour me Dead, creaking trees They praise me Mute, mossy rocks They worship me Empty shells Why exalt a man murdered by his own muse To prevent him from turning in his grave? |