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poetry poem

o mestre de destinies humanos é mim
ouviu as crianças jogar no sol
se eu morrer, pense somente disto de mim
pouco parque que eu passo completamente
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
eu sei não onde
dentro desta sepultura humilde um conqueror encontra-se
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
uma vez este turf macio
deve ir para trás, disse
que possibilidade spiteful rouba unawares
eu sou velho e cego

 



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