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footprint poem

hören Sie
er spricht nicht gut
die einzelne zusammengeprgessene angehobene Faust und bereiten vor
ich habe die Welt geworfen
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
ich gehe meine Weise complacently
zu, was eine Frau sie geliebt vergleicht
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
jene schwarzen Augen I einmal so gepriesen
glänzt das letzte Alter, das folgende mit Hoffnung wird gesehen
mit den meek, braunen Augen

 



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