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sad poetry

sobre el rĂ­o, en la colina
miré sobre el cielo glorioso
veo todos los ingenios humanos
con su pelo flaying violentamente
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
si él
su cara es justa y lisa y fina
como miento cubierto adentro, defendido adentro
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
he ganado la raza
estaba parado
éstos sean
el sol caminĂł abajo de su trono de oro
sobre los tejados compita con las sombras de nubes

 



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