Sometimes my thoughts exist in your country, br A place, perhaps, too harsh for yellow flowers. br My whisper travels across continents br Distance is blue, to whom it may concern. br br The blinding sun of your reality br Cannot obscure the frail frost of the moon. br It casts its magic light on ancient roofs. br There is no language foreign to its form. br br A tear or two, my friend, to mist your eyes. br No need to reply with an aerogramme. br You sent your soul in poems long ago. br I think old verse speaks loud for loveliness.