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friend poetry

come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
veda che mi dò voi
morbidamente piangendo
era una bellezza nei giorni
sotto la luna della raccolta
sceso all'alba dalle colline windless
e mentre abbiamo camminato l'erba debolmente è stata mescolata
perchè
lascilo essere triste
limps con la fermata del passo doloroso
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
quale desidero rilevare
ho visto che hunched e rabbrividendo sulle pietre

 



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