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retirement poem

warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
herauf von den SĂĽden am Bruch des Tages
in ihren zackigen regimentals
erklären Sie mir nicht
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
sie kennt eine preiswerte Freigabe
und noch gingen sie an
er erklärt von den guten alten Zeiten
er wird gegangen
aus mir heraus unwĂĽrdig und unbekannt
als ich in Ihre Augen schaute
das Swanbestehen
alle werfen die Jahre nieder

 



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