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poem

mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
il était un jeune oysterman grand
maintenant pour un combat vif et gai
une histoire très remarquable ceci est
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
ne vous affligez pas qu'elle plus de
n'accrochez aucune guirlande
je suis vieux et aveugle
cette année
laissez le bel unsaid de mots
un orage monte sur la marée
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
en tant qu'elle

 



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