miércoles, 3 de octubre de 2012

The Whistle:

I am whistling around him
Now that He is sleeping... 
While his inevitable whistle 
Like a sweet call
That turns into a hopeless voice
Whispers in my mind
After having dirtied his hands
After digging his own tomb
I'm whistling by his side
Like a light that never goes out
While he sleeps forever

And aver

I didn't know him at all, but I'm whistling by his grave, with white rose petals in my hands to give to... Nobody.

Writing by Andrés Miles © All rights reserved

1 comentario:

  1. wow! que bonito!

    sabes , yo aun no puedo escribir como tu lo haces en ingles.
    me ha gustado muchisimo!