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poetry for kid

quando ero si č rotto a Londra
dai prati ricchi con cereale
serene di pomeriggio e luminoso verdi
senza dubbio mi ricordo di ancora
cantili ancora alla canzone cantati
se lo slayer rosso pensa slays
da solo
dice a di buoni vecchi periodi
non giri la vostra testa
in tutte le cose non parlate di
mai in tutta la mia vita
ho visto con gli occhi aperti
non c'sono nessuna preda io dei pensieri difficili
nei loro regimentals ragged

 



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