诗人将要死去

                                        垂落的十指再也书写不了诗句

                                        没有人在为诗人流泪

                                        他们忙于欢歌笑语或是掩面低泣 

                                        诗人活着的时候没有光明的白天

                                        诗人便是那炙热的阳光

                                        诗人活着的时候没有安适的夜晚

                                        诗人便是那悲悯的月色

                                         如今 诗人将死

                                         将陪着一缕冷漠安然葬入沉默的泥土中  

                                         人们远远地散去

                                         人们怯于他的锋芒

                                          也不谙他的悲怆

                                          诗人将要葬在他的故乡

                                          那里有他深深热爱的土地和阳光

                                          在人间他曾赞美过天堂

                                          现在他将要到下面去赞美人间