Growing old in shabby clothes
is painful for one
who wanted all my life
to wear something handsome
under the handsome sun.
In darkness under the bent
moon I bend
to pick from the frozen dusty road
a shred of birch bark
blowing in the wind.
Growing old in shabby clothes
is painful for one
who wanted all my life
to wear something handsome
under the handsome sun.
In darkness under the bent
moon I bend
to pick from the frozen dusty road
a shred of birch bark
blowing in the wind.