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thanksgiving poetry

c'est le bateau de la perle
ce qui nous fera maintenant
cette année
je ne puis pas vous dire maintenant
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
hors de la fenêtre une mer des arbres verts
je descends les chemins de jardin
qui appellera le vent
ceux sur le supérieur indiquent qu'elles vous connaissent, la terre -- elles sont des menteurs
donnez-moi
les bateaux se situent dans le compartiment
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
elle a un espace libre, loveliness vent-abrité

 



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