somewhere,
in a field,
i want to be buried with you
so that when the living
walk above us,
we shall sing our hearts out
remaining quiet
six feet underground
and when they would sleep,
we would dance
until our feet will hurt
and our wings will burn.
YOU ARE READING
𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘
Poetryi look at the white bells hanging off green shanks - they are perfumed with death.
