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broken heart poem

der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
Sie sagen, daß Sie mich lieben
hören Sie
burly, DösenHumblebiene
was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt
sind sie traurig, die nicht Liebe kennen
vor er war viele und viel einem Jahr
gaily durch die Felder tanzten wir
möglicherweise ist es gleichgültig, das Sie starben
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums


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