Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Before the year turns tale,
And adds a whole saga
Of good and bad memories
To our being
Before we find ourselves too poor
Having been left with
Too little time to do any good
To it or to ourselves
Thy poet was singing
Of the music of the stars
Carrying heavy loads of words
Writing epics and odes.
Did he say anything
Or just shot these bullets into the air
To create the illusion
Of a great eventful affair?
He was carrying huge bundles
Of choicest words and similes
Said what never was said
In words alien to loyalty in bed.
Money never blurts out it’s ancestry
Nor will the harlot, her affair
Words are never known for loyalty
Or the art of being fair.
