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thanksgiving poetry

die hypocritic Tage
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern
in die Dunkelheit und Frieden meinem abschließenden Betts
wer den Wind nennen wird
zu, was eine Frau sie geliebt vergleicht
lassen Sie mich durch die Straße langsam bewegen
holen Sie mir weichen Song
sie war eine Schönheit an den Tagen
ein Dichter, nachdem den Zaum seine Zunge entfernt habend

 



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