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christmas poem

plecat sunt cele trei, cele surori rare
să ne exprima pasiunile noastre baser
hypocritic de zi
copilul care a aruncat departe de frunze după frunze
Cu buzele roşii de sânge şi inimă de piatră
nu aţi auzit de
un pic de piersic a crescut în livada
trist, care sunt ei nu ştiu dragoste
printre fum de ceaţă şi de după-amiază de decembrie
şedinţei sale în leagăn de aşteptare pentru ceai
Şi aşa mai merge


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