My whispering poems
My treasures
My arch images
My treasures
They honour me Dead,
Creaking trees
They praise me Mute, mossy
Rocks They worship me
Empty shells Why exalt a
Man murdered by his own muse
To prevent
Him from turning in his grave
Abonați-vă la:
Postare comentarii (Atom)
Niciun comentariu:
Trimiteți un comentariu