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epic poetry

un pequeño melocotón en la huerta creció
cuando era adaptó Londres
soy cansado de ser amargo y cansado de ser sabio
las cortinas de la noche caían rápidamente
veo todos los ingenios humanos
una mirada es solamente un rayo
la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas
todos esos tesoros que mienten
no éramos muchos
qué yo le deben
tormenta
he echado el mundo
tan perdido
dice de buenas viejas épocas

 



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