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death poem

a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
tudo dentro e tudo sem mim
năo seja falso
a noite era preta e drear
os corredores de mármore resounding longos
limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
todos tragam os anos
de repente, fora das maneiras escuras e frondosas
para entăo without
os drowses pálidos do dia no ocidental embebem
estourou o vinho feroz
até sua janela da câmara
eu era um goddess ere o mármore me encontrou
eu estive

 



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