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thanksgiving poetry

le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trône d'or
à partir des prés riches avec du maïs
clair de lune profond et tendre
il y a une heure du repos paisible
complètement des larmes
donnez-moi la faim
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
la lumière retirée
êtes vous vivant?
elle doit retourner, elle a dit
dites-moi
le soleil et vent et battement de mer
il parle pas bien

 



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