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type of poetry

receoso não mais, eu digo
quem estará nomeando o vento
eu vim no deserto porque minha alma é athirst
eu sou velho e cego
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
não do mundo largo do todo
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
tiveram e i mas encontrado com
na terra silenciosa
ruídos que strive rasgar
faça os meninos e as meninas vão ainda
para eu era um conselheiro gaunt, grave

 



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