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autumn poem

havia três no prado pelo ribeiro
talvez
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
última noite a lua cheia colocou um pano do branco
eu sou o vento que wavers
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
os céus que eram ashen e sober
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
cante-o outra vez à canção cantado
em todas as coisas não faladas de
com alegria e maravilha

 



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