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death poem

como va un hombre desnudo yo
este tazĂłn de fuente de plata antiguo el mĂ­os
qué nosotros ahora hará
dos filas de coles
un pensamiento dulce solemne
no esté enojado con mí
vea, de esta falsificación de él
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
déme el hambre
hay tres maneras de las cuales los hombres toman
tráigame la canción suave
disparando para arriba, cayendo abajo
quién nombrará el viento

 



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