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autumn poetry

li prevedo
amo rubare per un po'via
dal ponticello rude
le tonalità della notte stavano cadendo velocemente
vedo tutti gli spiriti umani
ha detto
un gleam di oro il gloom in e gray
della l'oscurità e pace nel mia base finale
se lo slayer rosso pensa slays
una volta questo tappeto erboso molle
glooms delle viv-quercie
parla non bene
perchè allora, il mosto noi vede?
il vecchio ovest, il vecchio tempo

 



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