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halloween poem

die Dichter sagen
ein kleiner Pfirsich im Obstgarten wuchs
Nacht war schwarz und drear
hören Sie
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
haben wir keine Schande?
in allen Sachen gesprochen nicht von
alle jene Schätze, die liegen
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
gloom
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
ich erwarte Sie
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens

 



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