A day is drawing to its fall
A dream of mine flew
over the mead
A race with the sun as he downed

A small blind street
Off East commercial road

A spirit seems to pass
Looks down at me

I'm off to cities
far away....

Attentive eyes....
Among the dusky years....

Bury me on a Sunday
I don't have the right to be
tired....


PHOTO   ARGIRO TSOURTI