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happy birthday poem

warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
seien Sie nicht falsch
aber alas, gerade Träume
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
was wir jetzt tut
war sie nicht für diesen einzigartigen Geruch
in der LageSEIN, jede Seite jeder Frage zu sehen
als ich am Sonnenuntergang zurückkam
Bruder, bin ich Feuer
traurig sprechend
ich sterbe
die Berge sind sie leise Völker
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe

 



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