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suicide poetry

diga-me não
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
mundo que muda sob minha mão
quando eu for para trás ligar à terra
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
a senhora, seu coração girou para a poeira
quietamente, com reverance, no awe
estes sejam
baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
e como poderia você sonho da reunião
como nivelar cai
o amor foi cantado mil maneiras
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim

 



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