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friend poem

vă sunt clare
întuneric cu ochi
Sunt pe moarte
au existat trei în lunca pârâului de
atât de căzut
I sta în frig gri vreme
îmi iubesc de viaţă, dar nu prea bine
dar nu pot să vă citesc acum
o de unul, ca pleaca de la un copac
I, atunci când a fost rupt în Londra
pentru aceste arme albe despre gâtul meu
de ce sta mereu acolo Frisoane
gândurile prin cap

 



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