Apocalypse Poem by Pierre Rausch
Apocalypse
She does not put out on mall
You make that to a pretty girl
No-matter-whom
Who can give me more
Men fire at square
Don't call to arm
Who cannot give me more
And there congeals
Going to dinner
And you'll see
A merry humor
General alarm
Uprising daybreak
When the shop-keeper hears
Four columns
I with am you
His hair in a white
The promenade taken
White with a pallor
With a pallor
Can I trust you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
9/22/2024 12:45:52 AM # 1.0.0.1119
