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suicide poem

warum Sie immer der dort shivering Standplatz tun Sie
wir waren nicht viele
ich sah die Wolken unter den Hügeln
über dem Fluß auf dem Hügel
Roses und Gold
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
die Bögen der roten Brücke
Tochter, thoukunst kommen zu sterben
durch die rude Brücke
Sonne und Wind und Schlag von Meer
hören Sie
niedrig! ' tis ein Galanacht
wir legen
weich als das Bett in der Masse

 



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