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thanksgiving poem

undeva am citit-o ţară străină, vechi, ruginit poveste
există o oră de odihnă paşnică
plin de lacrimi
frate, eu sunt de foc
A auzit de copii jucându-se de Duminica
de somn, gri frate de moarte
negru de grăsime de dolari într-un butoi de vin - cameră
i fost marcat,
jale
huddled trece prin pereţi şi urât
Sunt obosit de a fi amar si obosit de a fi înţelept
Nu pot sa simt întotdeauna măreţia
endeared zi, la fiecare muză
îţi aminteşti

 



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