So fragile, so small, hair thin and silver, why is it that my touch is so painful on your old figure?
Your groans of crying is melody to my ears, what is this I gain from your dry tears?
Is not pity but passion, it should be compassion.
I desire your curved waist, where my fingers make you cry.
My head rested on your chest, not out of spite but out of tenderness.
Is this love that I feel? Or is that my heart is broken? But to hear you gives me a soul of loneliness;
Like my enemies are hidden.
No, is my own body that plays you that way.
Even as you speak I can't bear to listen, why is it that my hands are the reason of your sadness?
With your words you express the deepest meanings my dear and sad violin.
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My Sad Lady
PoesíaSad poem about the love of a man to his silver hair lady that sings for him in tears, but who is this sad woman?
