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Ma Elena Walsh part in his last trip .. his poetry eternal ...

So many times I killed him, many times I died, But I'm here resurrected. But if I'm a disgrace and hand with dagger why he killed so bad, and kept singing. Singing in the sun like the cicada after a year under the ground, like survivor returning from the war. So many times I erased, so I disappeared, ami own funeral was alone and crying I knotted handkerchief but I forgot after that was not the only time and kept singing. Singing in the sun like the cicada after a year under the ground, like survivor returning from the war. many times you were killed, resurrected many, many nights spend desperate. And when the wreck and the darkness rescue someone to go singing. Singing in the sun like the cicada after a year under the earth, like survivor returning from the war