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son poem

el más triste del año
para entonces fuera
amo las viejas endechas melodious
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
suavemente llorando
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
quién ama la lluvia
mi amor verdadero de su almohadilla se levantó
ella puede ser que lo haya sabido en el resorte anterior
usted está claro
he ganado la raza
pueden hablar de amor en una cabaña
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello

 



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