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suicide poetry

podem falar do amor em uma casa de campo
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
os céus que eram ashen e sober
fraco-é voada a canção
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
porque assim sad meu encantador?
o ar é como uma borboleta
o mestre de destinies humanos é mim
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
para trás, gire para trás
doce e forte
eu vou minha maneira complacently
macio como a cama na terra

 



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