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mother poem

pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
haga a muchachos y las muchachas todavía van
quién ama la lluvia
con los ojos mansos, marrones
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
camino abajo de las trayectorias del jardín
pero alas, sueños justos
antes del santo de bronce solemne
estos corazones fueron tejidos de alegrías y de cuidados humanos
el eliminar, luchando vainly
las sombras ponen a lo largo de broadway
cuando voy de nuevo a la tierra

 



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