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poem for pastors

mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
quand, plein de l'amour chaud et désireux
il parle pas bien
qui est le coureur dans les cieux
elle était beaucoup et beaucoup d'il y a une année
nous avons aucune honte?
la pluie plus de, et l'air brillant
roses et or
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
un dieu
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi


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