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sympathy poem

dans des nombres mournful
les petites prières blanches
hors de la fenêtre une mer des arbres verts
doux comme lit dans la terre
observer toute la journée la vague bleue se courber et se casser
il y a une ville, builded par aucune main
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
ceux sur le supérieur indiquent qu'elles vous connaissent, la terre -- elles sont des menteurs
à certains les gros dieux
hors du profond et de l'obscurité
à minuit

 



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