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free love poetry

em sua barraca guardada
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
nas manhăs nuvem-cinzentas
eu năo queimo nenhum incense
mas alas, sonhos justos
como ele de quem espírito na chama do meio-dia
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
nós quebramos o vidro cujo vinho sacred
ao longo de um river-side
algum queixou-se ao mestre
fora do profundo e da obscuridade

 



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