My pen …

The First Period Work

My pen, is freezing in air

and I fall into deep sleep again

all of all, are going back to its very begining

the veils are fluttering in the wind

the hall is empty

the man,  is disappearing

when an oil lamp exhausts in a blink

a lonely goose is whining in a roll of knight-errant novel

but lost echo in its recall

…

I am asleep deeply in that roll of novel