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halloween poetry

se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
lá pela janela na casa velha
quando o véu dos olhos for levantado
todos tragam os anos
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
fora do profundo e da obscuridade
gaily através dos campos nós dançamos
agora que eu lhe esfriei
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
vinho velho a beber
porque então, a obrigação nós vê?
sob uma árvore espalhando da castanha
mas alas, sonhos justos
como selvagem, como bruxa-como estranho que a vida deve ser

 



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