My word

What I said, I never deny, One day he will fast, for though The sorrow that makes me empty, I'll say it by the hour, I confess that which is different, and different... to the lake! In innocent tears the foolish... It seems to play with care, in turn The poor vapour with his pictures... There he sheds and sheds his waves on Pomada. A dancing zorba with a fuzzy eye, He gives lessons in the snow,

To ask what's all in vain?

Mezei Karsa XII. H