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thanksgiving poem

bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
le soleil est vers le haut
ami, dont le sourire est venu pour être
ne tournez pas votre tête
pour moi étais un conseiller décharné et grave
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
il y a une ville, builded par aucune main
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci à moi
ne restez pas plus
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien

 



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