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fall poetry

non dal mondo largo di tutto
tristemente parlando
dai prati ricchi con cereale
truely
improvvisamente, dai sensi scuri e frondosi
sonno dolce nelle vostre tombe humble
ci erano tre nel prato dal ruscello
il sole ha fatto un passo giù dal suo throne dorato
molto bene, voi liberali
come lui di chi spirito nella fiammata del mezzogiorno
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes
quegli occhi neri i una volta così elogiato
da me indegno e sconosciuto
quando ero si è rotto a Londra

 



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