With the fall of our hands, something collapsed in my body, your migration, the peak of my voice hung over the branch, O clear green flowing, a good place for baptism, without you, one must die and wither under the soil of the garden, the
season that I was with you, the green season, the leaf of the chapter that became without me, the gray chapter of
your death, tell me, which river was the savior of the thirsty lips except you, which wind, which wind, the shadow, the shadow was tired without you? I have to breathe without you, I have to make your
shoulders cry,
your eyes are not familiar with breaking, my sobs, this breaking was silent, every sound that is not sound,
comrade of illnesses, this happiness must die, I have no companion except you, so that the night will take back from me, goodbye to you, O traveler of migration, may your wind be safe, may the wind be beating, the heart that gave
blood to the veins of my body.The season that I was with you became ours The cold season of the leaf that we were without you became the gray season of death
