SWEET BREATH
Thick shadow round my bed,
And brings the sweet breath made in death
Tired of living without support,
Where loneliness and insists complains
Emphasis is this scene and both calls
Who ever heard of a north?
Just increasing each cut,
I go undefended in this mud,
And the swamp that this gift
Because every day more increase
The fury of this pond within the soul,
Played on the rocks, vast sea,
In anything as I'm always thinking,
And certainly not the only calms.
MARCOS LOURES
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário