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writing poetry

sie muß zurück gehen, sagte sie
ich wußte nie, daß die Masse soviel Gold hatte
diese sind
in den Wolke-grauen Morgen
glooms der Lebeneichen
um Mitternacht
burly, DösenHumblebiene
schön
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
machen Sie sich nicht um das unsichtbare Sorgen
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
ängstlich nicht mehr, sage ich
die Bögen der roten Brücke
oben auslösen, unten fallend

 



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