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short poem

il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
osservare di lŕ
quando ho esaminato i vostri occhi
il piů triste dell'anno
li ho sentiti nella notte
veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
braided e tessuto
perchč sono le cose che non hanno morte
la sua faccia č giusta e liscia e fine
le montagne sono gente silenziosa
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
risiedo alla montagna della tabella
ho visto la prima pera

 



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