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pastor appreciation poem

la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
he ganado la raza
era un oysterman joven alto
solitario y solitario
el elevar, como el viento sopló
apenas como mis dedos en estas llaves
porqué hágale siempre soporte allí que tiembla
behold yo, en mi chiffon, gasa y malla
ochenta años han pasado, y más
musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad
él habla no bien
amigo, que sonrisa ha venido ser

 



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