There’s doubt in the tone of existance,
A shattered ballad of filosofic days,
Sounds swallow deep and echo in far distance,
Like a cloud shaped in a bluish face...
When she gets there she knows,
Clean words arisen in dawn,
Shining white eyes couldn’t close,
If the story has chosen to be gone...
It makes me wonder what wrote the sky,
When so many miracles colour my world,
I forgot you in a possible try,
Hoping personality makes the way curled...
There walks a lady I already know,
My heart whistles melodies on my guitar,
That is a miracle who lived to show,
Maybe all in all is all we all are...
Dedicated to Ilse G.