Tourism

Crossing the street there runs the river;
the seagulls fly and me between this crowd;
they elevate and fall unaware of my mood
I beg to escape to hear the thunder  
I keep walking I took the another
street, too full, the people are forever
I think they would vanish; the sculpture
I found calmly gets my attention, load
the water young boy, they can’t take your blood,
your whiteness is as soft as my flower,
a wild white bunch I take of from the lower
ground; they are the truth lasting for nothing.
Why I can’t fell in love with them? Growing
in the mist of the nature to die loving
the soil they nurtured mixing water
bathing the mud with the flies, bird dancer,
you belong to this place, stay clever.