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poem for pastors

weich weinend
wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
über den Dachspitzen laufen Sie die Schatten der Wolken
ich sehe allen menschlichen Esprit
von Fußboden zu Decke
die Schatten der Schiffe
ich sah mit geöffneten Augen
vor tausend leisen Jahren
die Luft ist von Dämmerung und Frühling voll
dieses ist der Song von Jugend
gloom
aus dem funkelnden Meer heraus

 



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