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life poem

talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
quando eu for para trás ligar à terra
eu sei não onde
frequentemente eu penso da cidade bonita
vivido pelo river-side
quando uma ação for feita para a liberdade
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
a terra mantem algum ir da vibração
o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
calma como que segundo verão

 



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