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thanksgiving poem

não do mundo largo do todo
até sua janela da câmara
eu espero-o
a neve sussurra sobre mim
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
na terra silenciosa
há uma hora do descanso calmo
calma como que segundo verão
os poetas dizem
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
eu vi-o uma vez antes
os dias endeared a cada MUSE
envolva a terra no tempo cloudy

 



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