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birthday poem

perchč allora, il mosto noi vede?
sotto un albero di diffusione della castagna
cara moglie
faccialo rotare giů dal prato
senza dubbio mi ricordo di ancora
e con l'uccello di ronzio
basamento qui dal mio lato
dal mare scintillante
il sole ha fatto un passo giů dal suo throne dorato
che cosa era esso i motori detti
poiché ho ritenuto il senso della morte
uno per uno, come va da un albero
abbiamo nessuno shame?

 



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