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christmas poetry

mas alas, sonhos justos
nós não éramos muitos
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
os poetas dizem
as verdades terrĂ­veis estes sejam
doubtless eu recordo ainda
acima dos prados ricos com milho
pensamentos através de minha cabeça
um pĂŞssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
ruĂ­dos que strive rasgar
porque então, a obrigação nós vê?
na obscuridade e na paz de minha cama final

 



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