марик - камарик
03-20-2006, 04:30 AM
My Son, My Executioner, Donald Hall 1955
My son, my executioner,
I take you in my arms
quiet and small and just astir
and whom my body warms.
Sweet death, small son,
our instrument of immortality,
your cries and hunger
document our bodily decay.
We twenty-five and twenty-two
who seemed to live forever
observe enduring life in you
and start to die together.
My son, my executioner,
I take you in my arms
quiet and small and just astir
and whom my body warms.
Sweet death, small son,
our instrument of immortality,
your cries and hunger
document our bodily decay.
We twenty-five and twenty-two
who seemed to live forever
observe enduring life in you
and start to die together.