by the sea
A great moment of solitude,
Between the rise and the sunset,
When you speak to me about poetry,
As if it was a disease.
Your dreams are more down-to-earth,
They sweep the dust of past,
That we have all in the heart
When we take care only of one.
Let us not hunt any more the elephants,
Nor the poems of Manhattan at noon,
Let us party in writing.
My sonnet is not really nasty,
however do not count his feet,
He will go to fall asleep wisely having washed himself.