In this quarentine you can finish a book o read poems, and here is one that I like.
The way infinity has to fit in a pitcher. . . What happened to that willow tree that was in my garden and woke up the green of my leaves.
And what happened to the one that was me when all my leaves were green?
Sometimes I think I hear that willow tree pronounce my name some nights and I feel it in the sap of my veins.
At the. Can you hear me if I read this poem? Will you feel it in the blood that runs
down its trunk and through its branches?
There is something that tells me that neither the willow tree nor anything that was mine should be considered lost forever. T
rain has filled the lungs with something that is a pain similar to joy.
Few things awaken my joy as the joyous jumping of some dog has come my way.
Few things remove something deep in me like the look of a dog tired of having lived so long...
Also you can search for more.
The way infinity has to fit in a pitcher. . . What happened to that willow tree that was in my garden and woke up the green of my leaves.
And what happened to the one that was me when all my leaves were green?
Sometimes I think I hear that willow tree pronounce my name some nights and I feel it in the sap of my veins.
At the. Can you hear me if I read this poem? Will you feel it in the blood that runs
There is something that tells me that neither the willow tree nor anything that was mine should be considered lost forever. T
rain has filled the lungs with something that is a pain similar to joy.
Few things awaken my joy as the joyous jumping of some dog has come my way.
Few things remove something deep in me like the look of a dog tired of having lived so long...
Also you can search for more.
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