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sister poem

o ar é como uma borboleta
têm você ouvido
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
temos nós nenhum shame?
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
eu espero-o
faça os meninos e as meninas vão ainda
uma névoa estava dirigindo para baixo
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
o doce com fern e levantou-se
sol e vento e batida do mar
a o que uma mulher a comparará beloved
um por um, como sae de uma árvore

 



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