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black poetry

meu filho está inoperante e eu sou cortina indo
deixe um sustento da alegria você
olhe para fora em cima das estrelas, meu amor
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
fora do mar sparkling
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
uma tempestade está montando na maré
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
é frequentemente não assim?
existir da cisne
três dias eu ouvi-os afligir-se quando eu coloco absolutamente
pouca porta foi alcançada no último

 



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