There's a place I like to go.
I like to be alone when there
Are birds and it is cold.
The grass is green and the trees sound,
Like stories of times
That I don't want when the hat(?) shows.
And there was sky.
The streets were steep, still unsound.

And there was life.
Children playing with marbles;
One sits upon a statue
As faces are designed
Looking forward, back, and at me.
A language I don't know.
It makes me want what I can't have:
A place in this pond.
Could it be when they die?