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funny poetry

o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se
sentar-se em seu balancim que espera seu chá
era o outono do ano
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
uma vez este turf macio
mas alas, sonhos justos
eu estou cantando-lhe
um por um, como sae de uma árvore
perguntam-me onde eu estive
o mestre de destinies humanos é mim
cai aqui nenhuma luz
algum queixou-se ao mestre

 



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