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sad poetry

als ich war, lief London ein
ich bin alt und blind
von Fußboden zu Decke
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr überschritten
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
ein süß ernster Gedanke
im September
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
die Sterne fielen vom Himmel
bleiben Sie nicht mehr
könnten wir aber zu wissen
die Bögen der roten Brücke
Massentravails
weich weinend

 



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