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narrative poetry

uma milha atrás
a neve sussurra sobre mim
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
e com o pássaro humming
o ar está cheio do alvorecer e da mola
não seja falso
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
assim perdido
as montanhas são povos silenciosos
levantou-se e o âmbar era o por do sol no rio
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
olhe para trás com olhos longing e saiba que eu seguirei

 



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