In the town, of which death is spreading on the school map,
bridge shines, how cheshuya of Carpe,
on a century-old chestnut gutter tight candles,
and a cast-iron wood misses passionate speech.
Through the window gauze, faded from washing,
show through sores clove and arrows the church;
distance tram rattles, both during it,
but no one is coming more from the stadium.
This end of the war - it's thin back
Viennese chair a blonde dress,
Yes winged flying silver bullets buzzing,
claims the lives of the South in July.