ROLLENSPIEL

It was one of those day. It had been passing much too fast. Much too badly. Taking a walk on the beach to get a clear head again, mourning who fell in the battle that day, mourning what was lost, pondering what had passed, wondering what will happen...


Heareth you, my friend,
the violin at the beach?
Whisling from ye ot'er side
a chello chimes there in,
whisphering above the waves
which softly brush the sandy beach.
All the while, wind caresses you,
dreaming the future yet to come.


To Jorgensen and Alassea