Pablo Neruda
So that you will hear
My words
Sotis grow th
As the tracks of the gulls on the beaches.
Neckce, drunken bell
For your hands sooth as grapes.
And I watch y words fro a long way off.
They are ore yours than e.
They clib on y old sufferg like ivy.
It clibs the sa way on dap walls.
You are to b for this cruel sport.
They are fleeg fro y dark ir.
You fill everythg, you fill everythg.
B e f o r e y o u t h e y
peopled the solitude
that you oupy,
And they are ore
ed to y sadness
than you are.