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 Hay sailor 

*

O you who are sailing in the night, wait until the morning

How many prisoners when Shaw longing guide the way

How many tears he poured over the  services of the cheeks

Wash the locked grief over the edges of the guide

Maybe the path was not in the palm of its range

We kept the door lost from my impossible shirt

Maybe it was an option while we were in a perpetual slumber

All the footsteps were blocked except the deep flashes of that woe

The calamities in her waves went through a manual melody in a mist

Whenever the sun shone, we went to the long night

This first page

This second page

First

the second

He walked in us fast and beautiful

And the fowl of that that is in the hand of the unseen is a scoundrel

And look at me when memory