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sister poem

bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
le verità terribili questi sono
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
un pensiero dolce solenne
alcuni dei hurts che avete curato
amilo in fine, o se non
uno per uno, come va da un albero
i corridoi di marmo resounding lunghi
tengo il vostro cuore
la festività reale è stata fatta
sono vecchio e cieco
chi chiamerà il vento
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate

 



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