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death poem

seu cabelo bonito
um pensamento doce solemn
para estes braços brancos sobre minha garganta
quando eu for para trás ligar à terra
ruídos que strive rasgar
como um homem despido mim vai
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
quando, cheio do amor morno e ansioso
fora do profundo e da obscuridade
os arcos da ponte vermelha
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
deixe-nos piedade aqueles de que seja melhor fora do que nós são
macio como a cama na terra

 



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