SAINT JOHN OF BEVERLEY BISHOP AND MARTYR

I'm dark night gulp of my christmas eve books that returns once more The short cold nights of Saint Lucia I hear the bells from the tower of Beverley Cathedral And the sounds ring out your name That when pronouncing it the jars of happiness of the Danaidas are filled It was the glory of being you And your image of that girl photo Playing with the sand on a Welsh beach That I carried in my wallet Far to think Next feel Well, love never dies It is one and indivisible The smoke from my pipe Go up to the porters of my room This little cell where I take refuge With a message to write I play chess with words I despair and I get excited I run away cry and shut up Quiet is the night An angel next to me smoked A cigarette The comfort to feel when beating its wings Sae was And she left on her departure Thought streams from books That I never wrote The sky was always blue Arcane Empyrean of Infinite Ideas One night at a Hull ball All red and all blue You came through the Hull mist And you spoke to me in your sweet London accent The guardian angel wore long tails His wings were robes Step by step Incense transformed into tobacco rises Does not leave me cough Nor does the fever go away I have flushes in my throat What will become of you they asked me at dawn Where and who do will you stay Old lady of my dreams I was a prisoner of turtleneck sweaters As soon as i can And I get good I will buy the Sunday I prepared my lessons I will correct notebooks I will be a model teacher Teaching alphabets in the empty classroom before the recess bells ring Time for a break I pray for the tuberculous And for charitable truckers That they take me for free BACK HOME And poetry every day The pinto bird will carry you on its wings Helen soul girl If you don't fall asleep I'll call the crane That he looks at you with his eyes that amaze Sleep Elenita That the world is an uninhabited drawer that the centipede has a hundred legs That the horses have gone tritons Galloping through space Sleep, and sleep, girl of the soul I lull you and sing you a lullaby When my girl grows up I will take her to the fair I'll buy her a pony and a guitar You will ride on the trunk of a finife And you will say pull it up, little horse, pull it up WHEN DAWN The fog awaits me The newspapers And the milk bottle Pasteurized What does the milkman leave? Traveling in an electric car In the hallway of the cover It's the beauty of the English aurora Plain landscapes with soul In St John of Beverley the bells ring Pray to clamor, pray to the mass of dawn What an Anglican priest says quickly With his cavernous voice he eats A lot of words There is nothing greater than owning a bicycle And pedal as you go Road to work 'down the path of the briddle path Good old Mrs Peak, prefect of studies, awaits me October me is clear Like the eye of a bustard Clouds bring winter messages Of untimely rains Square up, kid, the good scarf And the sweater that Suzi knitted for you with her fairy fingers The castles of white stone gallop towards the mountains I won't stop until I get home