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thank you poem

os arcos da ponte vermelha
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
não gire sua cabeça
em algum lugar eu li um tale estranho, velho, oxidado
estes corações foram tecidos de alegrias e de cuidados humanos
babylon -- onde eu vou sonhar
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
vindo para baixo no alvorecer dos montes windless
laranjas arrancando nubian azul-pretas
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
dê-me a fome
nós que estiveram

 



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