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poetry for kid

quem estará nomeando o vento
eu vi que você hunched e tiritando nas pedras
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
as canções antigas
há um que esse i amou uma vez assim muito
teria mesmo seu gracejo
eu não queimo nenhum incense
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
era não para esse cheiro singular
macia agora a luz do dia
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim

 



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