She sleeps inside my soul and sometimes wakes up in the night and plays with my dreams. She flips some of them over the air, piles some on top of others, and claps hers hands all by her-selves, smiling at my slumber...

A guitar on my street ...

Children playing outside ...

A Sunday, and the sun

Shining golden with joy ...

My sorrow that makes me

Love all that's indefinite ...

Though I had little life,

It pains me to have lost it.

But my life already

Runs deep in changes ...

A guitar I miss hearing,

Those children I miss being !