Not the crumb of a cloud was left in the ground

The dead wear mossy wings.

and the day is a wounded boy.

The clou９9ｌiｂ.netdy wind and the clear wind

dead on the bank, was an angel of coldness.

Each afternoon the water sits 九九藏书down

when I met you in the caverns of wine.

are two pheasants in fl九九藏书网ight through the towers,

Not a flicker of lark was left in the air

A giant of water fell down over the hills,

Each九*九*藏*书*网 afternoon in Granada,

and the valley was tumbling with lilies and dogs.

and chats with its companions.

In my hands vio九_九_藏_书_网let shadow, your body,

each afternoon, a child dies.

when you were drowned in the river.