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acrostic poem

esistere dello swan
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
nei numeri mournful
ha una radura, loveliness vento-riparato
il rullo triste del tamburo desonorizzato ha battimento
un gleam di oro il gloom in e gray
chi ama la pioggia
per questi bracci bianchi circa il mio collo
non dal mondo largo di tutto
vado il mio senso complacently
basso! 'tis un la notte di gala
bucks neri grassi in una stanza del vino-barilotto
non posso ora dirvi

 



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