He

What a pity! He became "grown-up" and, what’s more, a head taller than all these grown-ups. How I passed all the weary days, through the memories of his childhood through the arms of his warm feeling. How sincere they were his small and large childish fears how sincere was the color of his shyness that ran like a river of stars through the down of the clouds of his cheek. How fast he went and went and went beyond the valleys of distance and the jasmine scent of his hands amid the smell of coins and the abacus flew off and vanished became "grown-up", became "grown-up" the color of the countless, the grown-ups. I look at the dimensions of distance the dimensions of distance that are not filled with all our "profits" that are not filled with all your childhood that are not filled with all my sighs all our "shares". But alas for the arms of your feeling but alas for my warm days the stars the stars...