Not sleeping

Take the spirits route, walk floor your golden fields, on foot,

Like hermes perhaps, stepping among brick houses, and trees

In rows, like fate, carefully laid out, till, like an echo, at

Your name, my spirit lies down, at the foot of your Tara-world

Come, in hermes message, bestow, now, your round

Brow, a noble crown, the gods loud in my poem, my respect