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grandmother poem

lassen Sie das reizende Wortunsaid
babylon -- wo ich gehe zu träumen
Meister der menschlichen Schicksale sind ich
machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daĂź er rĂĽber sein
es gibt kein Entweichen durch den FluĂź
diese alte silberne SchĂĽssel von meinen
sehen Sie das vorläufige
der Himmel
wenn es
mit dem Sonnenuntergang
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
geschaukelt in die Aufnahmevorrichtung vom tiefen

 



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