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mother poem

ich loathed Sie
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
wie Adler auf hoher Höhe
glooms der Lebeneichen
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
ich weiß nicht wo
rückwärts drehen Sie sich rückwärts
allein
wer den Regen liebt
nun da ich zu Ihnen abgekühlt bin
ich sah die Wolken unter den Hügeln
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
gloom
um Mitternacht

 



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