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daughter poem

limps com parar o ritmo doloroso
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
um history muito notável isto é
a filha, arte do thou vem morrer
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol
eu sei não onde
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
cante-o outra vez à canção cantado
última meia-noite
ao longo dos bancos
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora
eu estou cantando-lhe

 



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