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short love poem

warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
das traurigste des Jahres
in den mournful Zahlen
sie sprengte fierce Wein
sie kennt eine preiswerte Freigabe
haben wir keine Schande?
wölbte die Flut
Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nĂĽchtern
Meister der menschlichen Schicksale sind ich
sie war eine Schönheit an den Tagen
aber alas, gerade Träume
zu, was eine Frau sie geliebt vergleicht

 



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