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child poem

et pain de breaketh pas plus
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
avant le saint en bronze solennel
la étoile-poussière et lumière vaporeuse
ne soyez pas faux
il y a une heure du repos paisible
polit le dernier âge, le prochain avec espoir est vu
près d'un champ en détresse
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
quelle chance spiteful vole des unawares
les jours endeared à chaque MUSE
laissez-moi se déplacer lentement par la rue
je vous ai détesté

 



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