Loading…It died your poverty. Posted on Wednesday June 4, 2008 - 0:50
A long time in its wood house,
Difficult, wild, deaf, a lady beggar,
No melancholy in the coins of currency.
Nothing listening, without bed.
Here the impermeable one, it remains upright,
Immortal in quantity, storm of dust,
Terribly young person and always in life,
Sinisterly.
.
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by Qui©he
Souk RECYCLO | Tags: Morceau, Prose caca
C’est triste…
Commented merdeuse on 4 juin 2008 à 18:28