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sad death poem

je vais ma manière complacently
quand je vais de nouveau à la terre
sous la lune de moisson
allé avant nous
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
exister de cygne
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
sommeil gentiment dans vos tombes humbles
quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
à partir des prés riches avec du maïs
je ne prie pas pour la paix

 



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