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anniversary poetry

es war der Herbst des Jahres
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
ich loathed Sie
ich denke sie gerades herrliches
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
noch dreizehn Jahre
ich liebe meine Stunde des Winds und des Lichtes
in den mournful Zahlen
mit Freude und Wunder
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
unnachgiebige Vergangenheit des thou
und während wir gingen, wurde das Gras schwach gerührt
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er

 



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