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sie hat einen freien Raum, Wind-geschütztes loveliness
durch das Ufer durch das Meer
nun da ich zu Ihnen abgekühlt bin
die alten Songs
ich sterbe
liebe Frau
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
wir, die standen
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
einmal dieser weiche Rasen
Melancholie, Blau war sie
ein kleiner Pfirsich im Obstgarten wuchs
in Ihrem Flug

 



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