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poem for pastors

de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
arched a inundação
ruídos que strive rasgar
eu estou no tempo cinzento frio
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
faça os meninos e as meninas vão ainda
a mulher faltou-me muito, como você se chama me, chamada
têm você andar visto através da vila
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
diga-me mais menos ou diga-me mais
você recorda

 



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