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autumn poetry

deve andare indietro, ha detto
il più triste dell'anno
in pieno delle rotture
quando libertà dalla sua altezza della montagna
ma alas, sogni giusti
l'aria è piena l'alba del e la molla
alti pareti ed enorme
dicami
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
l'alba era verde mela
behold me, in miei chiffon, garza e canutiglia
sono nell'amore con gli alti posti far-seeing

 



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