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mother poem

non sia falso
tre anni fa oggi
la notte è scura ed i venti di inverno
che probabilità spiteful ruba i unawares
morbido come la base nella terra
la mia anima va placcata nelle cose gorgeous
ci erano tre nel prato dal ruscello
stuff della luna
li ho fatti un'offerta tutto l'addio
nel vostro volo
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
così perso
l'alba era verde mela
quando il velare dagli occhi è alzato

 



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