Someone will ask later, sometimes
searching for a name, his own or someone's else's
why I neglected his sadness or his love...
But I didn't have enough time or ink for everyone.
Or maybe it was the strain of the city, of time
the cold heart of the clocks...
Pablo Neruda
(1904 - 1973)
Source: Winter Garden (A Kagean Book) (Spanish Edition), Page: 19 (For All To Know)
Add to Library | Favorites

Help



