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thanksgiving poetry

Glasbläser der Zeit
entlang den Bänken
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
oben auslösen, unten fallend
unter dem Erntemond
unter den Bergen wandered ich
ich wundere manchmal, mich wenn es wirklich zutreffend ist
möglicherweise ist es gleichgültig, das Sie starben
über den Dachspitzen laufen Sie die Schatten der Wolken
machen Sie sich nicht um das unsichtbare Sorgen
alle innen und alle ohne mich
wie wie die Sterne dieses Weiß ist, namenlose Gesichter
warum so traurig mein reizendes?


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