A song on the edge of the wind

Like the almond blossom but the weather is winter, it shows mercy to a nightingale in the soul that has fallen silent like a cloud from the farthest water raining on me neither the sand of my feelings shakes nor a plant I broke my jar of sorrows on my trail I no longer ask: where is the end? and when? I was absent from myself for a long time, unconcerned because my eyes since I left have not cried