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thanksgiving poetry

las cortinas de la noche caían rápidamente
las verdades tremendas éstos sean
los días hypocritic
el dulce con el fern y se levantó
ámeme en el último, o si usted no
venido abajo en el amanecer de las colinas windless
poco parque que paso a través
tristemente hablando
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril
reservado, con reverance, en temor
estoy parado en el tiempo gris frío
porqué tan es triste mi encantador?
estoy muriendo

 



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