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short funny poem

cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
usted es mi compañero
materia de la luna
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
le hizo oyen hablar siempre
sobre el río, en la colina
quién nombrará el viento
el amo de destinos humanos es yo
una milla detrás
y como caminamos la hierba fue revuelta débilmente
algún se quejó al amo
el mirar más allá
lo van

 



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