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birthday poem

poich ho ritenuto il senso della morte
i corridoi di marmo resounding lunghi
ultima mezzanotte
era l'autunno dell'anno
nel vostro volo
nella terra silenziosa
il bambino che ha gettato via il foglio dopo il foglio
ho visto la prima pera
morbidamente piangendo
la sua faccia giusta e liscia e fine
non rimanga nient'altro
al lover appassionato
la donna molto ha mancato, come denominate a me, chiamata a me

 



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