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death poem

juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
et pain de breaketh pas plus
bien que je sois peu en tant que toutes les petites choses
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
quand, plein de l'amour chaud et désireux
j'ai su le silence des étoiles et de la mer
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
certains des maux que vous avez traités

 



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