quinta-feira, 24 de maio de 2012

Tired

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we'll leave it far and far away -
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and - 
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart - 
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

ee cummings


Asas do Desejo, de Wim Wenders, 1987
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