Poets

A boat came, you rode on it Piecemeal weathered the far west Where fragmented crimson clouds are dissolving in the water The boat died out there

When the apparently elongated life Is shortened into some moments, a few hours, Sleep come not in my eyes. After little an hour night will fall;

It appears in your mind when midnight comes When without the humdrum of day Sit alone coldly in the night air Dewy night will make you cold to your heart