February
Wednesday 17 November 2010 photo 1/1
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Under the morning sky cold, gray sky
Heavy heads bow themselfs in supplication
See a king, say the roses, and walked on again
See a king and a dreamer is dead!
Over grass and gray house flies at night as a murmur
Pale stars blink poor from the sky
Over the moor from the west down the pond is a light,
Is a song of rosestudded mud.
And the storm sings black and white
And the foam around her mouth
Sing the waves on the wilderness emergency
Over the angry black water up to play the night prayer
For a musician and a dreamer is dead
But deep in the deep rough trails trampled the roses to the wound
Middle of the meadow as the dew is green
He could all the mazes
He melted the snow at winter
He held my sixth sense
He ... was like fire
Annons
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