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thanksgiving poetry

los poetas dicen
ella dijo
mi alma es un campo arado oscuro
la lluvia encima, y el aire brillante
una vida en la onda del océano
fuera de la ventana un mar de árboles verdes
aquí miente una señora más hermosa
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
paredes y enorme altos
él habla no bien
pero alas, sueños justos
no puedo sentir siempre su greatness
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes

 



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