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free love poetry

uma vez este turf macio
a terra mantem algum ir da vibração
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
os prayers brancos pequenos
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol
prazeres mid e palácios embora nós podemos vaguear
macia weeping
com o por do sol
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
como águias na elevação ascendente
brilha a última idade, o seguinte com esperança é visto
uma tempestade está montando na maré
nós que estiveram
rode-me para baixo pelo prado

 



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