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poem for pastors

as sombras dos navios
pássaros de encontro ao vento de abril
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
irmăo, eu sou fogo
a noite era preta e drear
e como poderia vocę sonho da reuniăo
fora do profundo e da obscuridade
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
o oeste velho, o tempo velho
baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
e assim vai

 



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