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memorial poem

apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
muy bien, usted liberales
él habla no bien
los poetas dicen
el amo de destinos humanos es yo
hace usted oĂ­r
en el frunce de la oscuridad y piden
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
pasado implacable del thou
cuando las horas del dĂ­a se numeran
los dĂ­as melancĂłlicos han venido
escrito en una noche del vuelo
no éramos muchos

 



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