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baby poem

veda, da questa falsificazione di lui
un uccello ha cantato
quando libertà dalla sua altezza della montagna
ho fatto una volta soltanto un voto, uno
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
non appenda corona
la notte è scura ed i venti di inverno
contro la fiamma verde dell'cratego-albero
della l'oscurità e pace nel mia base finale
sotto la luna della raccolta
ma non posso ora leggerlo
faccio la mia protezione, ma nessuno sa

 



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