I have all ways done
so, even as a child
did I know gallons of tears
mostly from fear
As nuerotic people
whom claimed they
did care
Sendings uncles to bring
you back from places
only Crawford would dare
Fearless of death you knew
it true
Crawford she was not
but so many think
they are
Does the child in this thing
called the show must go on
The show always goes on
at pace with grace
No decent
director could
say but of else
colors magnificent
managerie to bring
back
Memories red white and blue
with such grace
and a level head
every single
mountain top
would be so
happily tred
For the purity
of simple
snow taste
not of tears
So the Pillow
tells me so
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
iip, Do not speak with a pillow long, she is as night-parrot only in dream... 10..