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fall poem

Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
wenn ihr Haar wild flaying
lieben Sie mich schließlich oder, wenn Sie nicht werden
die Bögen der roten Brücke
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
wenn, voll von der warmen und eifrigen Liebe
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
lassen Sie mich traurig sein
das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
hohe Wände und sehr groß

 



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