Under the guise of Sunday visits to my niece, here is a text
already old.
already old.
Horse, horse, boat
paper
I am a wave,
wet your feet. For
my child dream
with sprigs of lemon verbena,
low moon nights
freshly bathed in lemon.
Horse, horse, boat
paper
at the foot of the mountain
wet your feet.
Sailor, salt and water,
where you left the sun?
This morning I dreamed the wind in your song.
Horse, horse, boat
paper
night I trip,
wet your feet.
Sleep well my child is happy the boat today, may
take me to the twelve:
wherever the ship ran aground.
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