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love poem

schöne, tragical Gesichter
Ruhe als die zweiter Sommer
was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
Massentravails
ich brenne keinen Duft
meine Mutter twines mich die Roses, die mit Tau naß sind
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch

 



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