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romantic poetry

ido antes de nosotros
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
hace usted oír
porqué tan es triste mi encantador?
antes del santo de bronce solemne
se hace el día
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
en la esfera
desdeño a mis amigos más que usted
usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
nosotros que estaban parados

 



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