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sad poem

los drowses pálidos del día en el occidental empapan
mundo que cambia bajo mi mano
estrella-polvo y luz vaporosa
encima del sur en la rotura del día
soy el viento que duda
los pequeños rezos blancos
arqueó la inundación
una pluma del acero
cuando un hecho se hace para la libertad
si el asesino rojo piensa él mata
vi que usted hunched y temblando en las piedras
su pelo hermoso
ahora mientras que están viviendo mis labios
en números mournful

 



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