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death poem

la mia madre twines me rose bagnate con rugiada
molto bene, voi liberali
le tonalità della notte stavano cadendo velocemente
splendor dolce
non si addolori che finito
oscillato nella culla del profondo
la notte era nera e drear
per coprire il pensiero ardente
l'alba era verde mela
tranquillamente, con il reverance, nel awe
del sole né stelle
quando il velare dagli occhi è alzato
sono una donna
nelle mattine nube-grige

 



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