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footprint poem

Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
traurig sprechend
wir, die standen
ich sagte, ich habe geschlossen mein Herz
ich bilde meinen Abschirmrahmen, aber niemand weiß
die kleinen weißen Gebete
ich sah ihn einmal vorher
lassen Sie einen Freudenunterhalt Sie
wie wild, wie Hexe-wie sonderbares, das das Leben sein sollte
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
wenn ich sehr sicher war
einmal dieser weiche Rasen
wölbte die Flut
ich bete nicht für Frieden

 



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