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narrative poetry

nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
esta é a canção da juventude
e enquanto nós andamos a grama foi agitada fraca
tempestade
serene da tarde e brilhante verdes
o corpo pode confinar
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
filhas do tempo
você ouve a chuva?
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
e pão do breaketh mais
eu olhei em cima do céu glorious
as canções velhas

 



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