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grandmother poem

l'aria č piena l'alba del e la molla
non si addolori che finito
non brucio incenso
ci sono guadagni per tutte le nostre perdite
č allineare che dite che i dii sono piů uso a voi che i fairies
uccelli contro il vento di aprile
i cieli che erano ashen e sobrio
quando le ore del giorno sono numerate
quale si conservare
non sia falso
lungamente fa, nel moonlight giovane
siete vivi?
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre

 



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