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thanksgiving poetry

l'alba era verde mela
ci sono guadagni per tutte le nostre perdite
sedendosi nel suo attuatore che aspetta il vostro tè
fate non sentirsi
il giorno è fatto
dicami
un miglio dietro
al lover appassionato
sentite la pioggia?
sopra il fiume beckon a me
aumentato dai morti
per guardare tutto il giorno l'onda blu arricciarsi e rompersi
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
è allineare che dite che i dii sono più uso a voi che i fairies

 



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