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free love poetry

havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
ao longo dos bancos
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
não se aflija que sobre
o céu
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
os arcos da ponte vermelha
você ouve a chuva?
desolado e solitário
a neve sussurra sobre mim
ao lado de um campo stricken
eu moldei o mundo
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres

 



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