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il était un jeune oysterman grand
il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
en matins nuage-gris
quand un contrat est fait pour la liberté
apportez-moi la chanson douce
pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou
substance de la lune
quand j'ai regardé dans vos yeux
ces yeux noirs i une fois ainsi félicité
hors de la mer de scintillement
pour venir tellement bientôt à ceci a imaginé l'obscurité
je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness

 



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