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birthday poetry

behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
con gioia e wonder
è andato
ora per una lotta attiva e cheerful
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
stuff della luna
metà di piaceri e palazzi benchè possiamo vagare
un poet, prendente il freno fuori della sua linguetta
due file dei cavoli
perchè così triste mio bello?
vedrò stasera una stella
alla mezzanotte
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
oscillato nella culla del profondo

 



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