Faked looks, To the audience, Soldier steps, On the thin rope, To the very known, Owned fingers, With the top five touch, Snow, Under the sun, Closed her eyes, Just once, With the hands of God, Opened mine, With hers, Years after years, A frozen flower blossomed, In the ice, There she were, My porcelain.
Ahmet Yýldýrým/Antalya
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