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teen poem

si él
splendor dulce
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
tengo gusto de ella
las montañas son gente silenciosa
el rodillo triste del tambor amortiguado tiene golpe
ponemos
cuando miraba en sus ojos
por completo de rasgones
poco parque que paso a través
antes del santo de bronce solemne
venido abajo en el amanecer de las colinas windless
cĂłmo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
pájaros contra el viento de abril

 



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