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famous poem

Sturm
innerhalb dieses niedrigen Grabs liegt ein conqueror
ich gehe meine Weise complacently
noch dreizehn Jahre
als es
weich jetzt das Licht des Tages
neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
das traurigste des Jahres
sie hat einen freien Raum, Wind-geschĂĽtztes loveliness
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
bis zu ihrem Raumfenster
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
sie sprengte fierce Wein

 



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