There are still lanes to stroll along,
but death occupies all the benches.
Bewildered children laugh and play leapfrog
on the edge of ravines.
I intended to stand on the bridge
that separates the shacks from the gardens.
Yet, from the delight of being a wine taster,
remains only the pleasure in the water of a fountain.
I walk now in the old town
while, travel to their destinies:
the old friends, the women, and the pieces
of what I was, as a boy, lost in the oak woods.