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son poem

diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
traurige Rolle der gedämpften Trommel hat Schlag
so verloren
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell
lassen Sie mich traurig sein
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
liegt hier eine schönste Dame
süsses splendor
voll von den Rissen
niedrig! ' tis ein Galanacht
sie hat einen freien Raum, Wind-geschütztes loveliness
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet

 



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