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thanksgiving poem

zum leidenschaftlichen Geliebten
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
ich brenne keinen Duft
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
Hinausschieben, vainly kämpfend
mittlere Vergnügen und Paläste, obwohl wir durchstreifen können
einige der Hurts, die Sie kuriert haben
unter dem Helm des Warriors
sehen Sie das vorläufige
gaily durch die Felder tanzten wir
alle jene Schätze, die liegen

 



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