• poetaster_rtd 50w

    As soon as the tears have been dried by the wind of autumn night,
    My love wept in a profound manner
    Tearing away hearts of young women
    Tearing the strings from the woman he loved.

    An artificial rupture has woken sleeping souls,
    Obliging scattered remains of hearts
    Not quite breached but only scarce for the melody
    Composing fluent song of pain.