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math poem

die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
Glück
könnten wir aber zu wissen
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
die alten Songs
gaily durch die Felder tanzten wir
gibt es jedes dort
drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese
wenn Freiheit von ihrer Gebirgshöhe
traurige Rolle der gedämpften Trommel hat Schlag
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
Überschreiten durch die huddled und häßlichen Wände
den brennenden Gedanken kleiden
es gibt kein Entweichen durch den Fluß

 



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