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grandmother poem

ho visto i archangels nel mio mela-albero la notte scorsa
la figlia, l'arte di thou viene morire
mi sono levato in piedi
il dolce con il fern ed è aumentato
poco cancello è stato raggiunto in fine
ho fatto una volta soltanto un voto, uno
là dalla finestra nella vecchia casa
il sole è in su
ha scoppiato il vino feroce
questi sono
in un vecchio alloggiamento si è illuminato morbidamente
oscillato nella culla del profondo

 



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