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memorial poem

eu ouvi-os na noite
na meia-noite
o ar é como uma borboleta
que possibilidade spiteful rouba unawares
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
meu amor verdadeiro de seu descanso levantou-se
trançado e tecido
apenas agora
eu não pray para a paz
de nossos lugares escondidos
os arcos da ponte vermelha
eu vi com olhos abertos
agora para uma luta viva e cheerful

 



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