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romantic poem

in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
ich bin alt und blind
letzter Mitternacht
wenn der Wind gegen uns in der Dunkelheit arbeitet
auf und ab geht ihn
das Kind, das weg Blatt nach Blatt warf
jene schwarzen Augen I einmal so gepriesen
unter meinem Fenster in einer StadtstraĂźe
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
wie ich sollen Sie, helfen Sie rechts der Welt, die falsch geht
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
Töchter der Zeit

 



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