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sad poetry

tristemente hablando
si era muy seguro
soy el viento que duda
esos ojos negros i elogiado una vez tan
usted es hermoso y descolorado
no puedo ahora decirle
suave como la cama en la tierra
como va un hombre desnudo yo
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
el sol está para arriba
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
hay cualquiera allí
el solo puńo apretado levantado y alista

 



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