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gothic poetry

diz de épocas velhas boas
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
poderíamos nós mas para saber
irmão, eu sou fogo
um gleam do ouro no gloom e no cinza
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
macio como a cama na terra
tropeçando acima, caindo para baixo
eu estive
o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
o movimento do seu corpo é como a música
acima dos prados ricos com milho

 



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