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short poem

haga a muchachos y las muchachas todavía van
debajo de la hoja oscura del laurel
la noche es oscura, y los vientos del invierno
no hay escape al lado del río
gaily a través de los campos bailamos
hombre frío severo
usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
encima del sur en la rotura del día
todavía su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
venido abajo en el amanecer de las colinas windless
el movimiento de su cuerpo es como música

 



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