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baby shower poem

mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
¡bajo!' tis a la noche de la gala
los dĂ­as hypocritic
musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad
qué yo le deben
si era muy seguro
podrĂ­amos sino saber
todavĂ­a su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
el amo de destinos humanos es yo
hice una pausa el marco abierto
cuando volvĂ­ en la puesta del sol
hombre frĂ­o severo
expresemos nuestras pasiones más bajas
el existir del cisne

 



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