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type of poem

es verdad que usted dice que los dioses son más uso a usted que hadas
mi amor verdadero de su almohadilla se levantó
una tormenta está montando en la marea
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
al lado de un campo afectado
vea el tentativo
dentro de mi mano sostengo
porqué tan es triste mi encantador?
he venido en el desierto porque mi alma es athirst
la luz retirada
pienso a menudo en la ciudad hermosa

 



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