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inspirational poem

quando o véu dos olhos for levantado
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
o mistério o mais escuro, o mais estranho
melhore do que o granito
eu sou o vento que wavers
uma milha atrás
desolado e solitário
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
vindo para baixo no alvorecer dos montes windless

 



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