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short funny poem

de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
evidenciado no glimmer em seus olhos
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
f4-lo vêem sempre um jacaré
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
o sol está acima
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
deixe-nos plantar
ao longo de um river-side
há uma hora do descanso calmo

 



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