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o ar é como uma borboleta
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
como como as estrelas é este o branco, as caras nameless
diz de épocas velhas boas
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
na obscuridade e na paz de minha cama final
porque então, a obrigação nós vê?
como águias na elevação ascendente
melancolia, azul era
sombras voadas que varrem perto
eu amo minha hora do vento e da luz
têm você andar visto através da vila

 



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