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pastor appreciation poem

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
sono, irmão cinzento da morte
não gire sua cabeça
podem falar do amor em uma casa de campo
eu sou cansado de ser amargo e cansado de ser sábio
olhar além
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- são liars
seu cabelo bonito
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
composto do loveliness sozinho
eu estive
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
uma sombra cinzenta fina na borda do pensamento
e assim vai

 



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