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memorial poem

un uccello ha cantato
all'interno della mia mano tengo
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
amo le vecchie disposizioni melodious
fate non sentirsi
o giusta e stately domestica, di cui occhi
ho scagliato la mia anima all'aria come un volo del falco
ho avuto un timore nella mia vita
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
la notte è scura ed i venti di inverno
questi cuori sono stati tessuti delle gioie umane e cure

 



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