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memorial poem

o relâmpago piscou, e levantou
eu espero-o
quando a noite drifts ao longo das ruas da cidade
sob a lua da colheita
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol
eu estou cantando-lhe
em sua barraca guardada
quando eu era quebrou em Londres
antes do saint de bronze solemn
uplifting, como o vento fundiu
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
aqueles no superior dizem que o conhecem, terra -- săo liars
vinho velho a beber

 



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