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love poem quote

quando eu retornei no por do sol
algum queixou-se ao mestre
os dias melancólicos vieram
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
porque
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
eu não pray para a paz
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
aflija-se não para o invisível
cidade que não é uma cidade

 



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