My whispering poems My treasures My arch images My treasures They honour me Dead,
Creaking trees They praise me Mute, mossy
Rocks They worship me Empty shells Why exalt a man murdered by his own muse To prevent
Him from turning in his grave?
Creaking trees They praise me Mute, mossy
Rocks They worship me Empty shells Why exalt a man murdered by his own muse To prevent
Him from turning in his grave?
