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child poetry

minha alma vai clad em coisas gorgeous
porque sĂŁo as coisas que nĂŁo tĂŞm nenhuma morte
minha alma Ă© um campo ploughed escuro
vocĂŞ recorda
raça elevado-carregada
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
quando, cheio do amor morno e ansioso
o relâmpago piscou, e levantou
musing, entre o por do sol e a obscuridade
Ă© verdadeiro que vocĂŞ diz que os deuses lhe sĂŁo mais uso do que fairies

 



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