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inspirational poetry

wenig Park, den ich durch führe
und so geht sie
süß und stark
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
unter dem Helm des Warriors
Nacht ist dunkel und die Winterwinde
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
gegangen die drei, jene seltenen Schwestern
was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt


 



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