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funny poem

com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
no recolhimento da escuridĂŁo e pedem
sombras voadas que varrem perto
não gire sua cabeça
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
como ele de quem espĂ­rito na chama do meio-dia
eu sou uma mulher
havia trĂŞs no prado pelo ribeiro
sadly falando
nobility da morte outra vez
para poder ver cada lado de cada pergunta
assim perdido
não há nenhum escape pelo rio

 



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