http://write.vtheatre.net/museum/4.html
I know I'm wrong.
I know I'm right.
She is my wife, this woman in white.
She crosses the street,
She walks away,
She is on her own...
Look at me! Hey!
I must be dreaming, I must be mad -
This woman is leaving! Please, wait! ...
I'm trembling, not yet, please, not yet...
I know this city, I know this street,
This corner, this woman, This tree...
It is me... at the corner, old tree...
It's cold, she is gone, I am done...
My leaves... getting dry, getting grey
My heart... Down Falling... Too late.
I lost. I am here. Silently brave...
A tree is a tree.
Like a stellar above my own grave.
It was written many years ago. At the times when I believe that it possible for me to write a book, fiction, it was before I became webmaster.
No, I don't remember it. I simply know that it was me.
No, not me, somebody else.
...
I know I'm right.
She is my wife, this woman in white.
She crosses the street,
She walks away,
She is on her own...
Look at me! Hey!
I must be dreaming, I must be mad -
This woman is leaving! Please, wait! ...
I'm trembling, not yet, please, not yet...
I know this city, I know this street,
This corner, this woman, This tree...
It is me... at the corner, old tree...
It's cold, she is gone, I am done...
My leaves... getting dry, getting grey
My heart... Down Falling... Too late.
I lost. I am here. Silently brave...
A tree is a tree.
Like a stellar above my own grave.
It was written many years ago. At the times when I believe that it possible for me to write a book, fiction, it was before I became webmaster.
No, I don't remember it. I simply know that it was me.
No, not me, somebody else.
...
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