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sad poetry

renove a visăo do prazer
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
eu prendo seu coraçăo
mas alas, sonhos justos
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
sob a lua da colheita
pensamentos através de minha cabeça
eighty anos passaram, e mais
material da lua
sobre o rio, no monte
era năo para esse cheiro singular
seu cabelo bonito
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
da cançăo e do sonho para ido sempre

 



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