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mom poem

baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala
os prayers brancos pequenos
paredes e enorme elevados
uplifting, como o vento fundiu
deixe-me mover-se lentamente através da rua
esteja em mim como os modos eternal
eu fui acima e trago as ruas
desde que eu senti o sentido da morte
deixe-nos expressar nossas paixőes mais baixas
este é o arsenal
sol e vento e batida do mar
para vestir o pensamento impetuoso
em sua barraca guardada
agora quando meus bordos viverem

 



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