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pumpkin poem

por la orilla, por el mar
hay una ciudad, builded por ninguna mano
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa
rompemos el cristal que vino sagrado
si él
dice de buenas viejas épocas
glooms de los vivir-robles
aquí miente una señora más hermosa
los días endeared a cada MUSE
de la canción y del sueño para ido siempre
gloom
cuál deseo comentar
debajo de la luna de la cosecha
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello

 



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