The Killer of Beauty
Sometime when I walk through the park I halt my view
So I do not waste it on the beautiful scenery of nature
As I am the killer of beauty. When I resume it I know that I will
Send to death a rose bud
Bouquet of mimosa or from the tree tops
Red bunches of grains hang in abundance
From thin wigs irresistibly flailing in their beauty.
And so, now I observe out of a blue vase on the table
Those red bunches hang slowly dying for me
The killer of beauty.