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short funny poem

neben einem geschlagenen Feld
aus dem tiefen heraus und die Dunkelheit
die langen resounding Marmorflure
tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
über ihnen alle, unten schauend
ich singe Ihnen
gestern Abend legte der Vollmond ein Tuch von Weiß
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
ich liebe, eine Weile weg zu stehlen
der Schnee whispers über mich

 



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