For A. far away friend.
The place looks desolated.
The last partygoer left
minutes ago.
Three trees
- connected by a wire
-
the play-field demarcated by their shadows
wearing
darker then the night
colorless leaves
as mourning clothes for a deserted party.
Loose lampions hanging
on the demarcation line
spreading vague sad light
waiting for the wind to quench
their thirst for oxygen.
Nobody noticed the absence of the fourth pillar
He must have left a
long time ago,
quitted the scene long before the first guests arrived.
Years, ages, an eternity.
No one sees the stragglers mourning
and when the last candle gives over to the final breath
the vagrant brings
a message
a song
a chant.
It gets cold.
Let's go inside.
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