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sad poetry

o que era ele os motores ditos
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
eu tive um sonho e eu acordei com ele
do sol nem das estrelas
há uma cidade, builded por nenhuma mão
os corredores de mármore resounding longos
sob uma árvore espalhando da castanha
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
não se aflija que sobre
estourou o vinho feroz
o merriment infinito, foolish das estrelas

 



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