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gothic poetry

es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
er war ein hohes junges oysterman
ich stand das geöffnete Flügelfenster bereit
in den mournful Zahlen
alle beruhigen entlang dem potomac
wir waren nicht viele
wer den Regen liebt
ca. beschwerte sich zum Meister
eine Feder des Stahls
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
ich halte Ihr Herz
und breakethbrot nicht mehr

 



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