leaving kampa
Christen me tonight with farewells
for my years in Kampa have been fair,
my heart has been won,
and with very few words written
I leave behind a palm print and a pen,
its able ink having failed me once again,
when I look out my window at Kampa square,
I see nothing but my reflection,
a portrait of a lonely man
that couldn’t find the words
to put his dreams to rest.
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