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poem for pastors

quando libertĂ  dalla sua altezza della montagna
lungamente fa la luce solare di estate lucidare
l'odore del è aumentato così falso, le spine così allineare
morbidamente ora la luce del giorno
una tempesta sta guidando sulla marea
ora
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
sto cantando voi
ho fatto una pausa la stoffa per tendine aperta
la nerezza ruba le forme di tutte le regine
i cieli che erano ashen e sobrio

 



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