On the stark wall, on the vertical Stark white,
Leave the trace of a drop of tear rows
Or such tiny, such blur Anything else.
Hands cannot fly;
Even cannot make the rocks Into Sun;
what hands hold tightly is Nothing.
Hands write on the earth:
Only left white Nowhere else to bury,
Over the window,
the ancient ocean Sparkles the young flame,
It has seen the drifting boats,
Countless sailors
Gazing at Gleaming morning star
Maleonn
