Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
A poor - torn heart - a tattered heart -
That sat it down to rest -
Nor noticed that the ebbing Day
Flowed silver to the west -
Nor noticed Night did soft descend -
Nor Constellation burn -
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown.
The angels - happening that way
This dusty heart espied -
Tenderly took it up from toil
And carried it to God -
There - sandals for the Barefoot -
There - gathered from the gales -
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the wandering Sails.

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    Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz

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