Refugee
· One min read
Weeping was my lot.
Half asleep, two little sparrows left their own land
‘refugee’
I kiss their bodies,
the colour of wheat in summer,
they complain into the watering.
It was my lot to be the cloud!
Weeping was my lot.
Half asleep, two little sparrows left their own land
‘refugee’
I kiss their bodies,
the colour of wheat in summer,
they complain into the watering.
It was my lot to be the cloud!