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death poem

warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
die hypocritic Tage
sehen Sie, sie zurückgehen
während ich das Hören stand, diskret dumb
im Bereich
diese sind
ein Nebel fuhr unten
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
ich liebe mein Leben, aber nicht zu gut
Melancholie, Blau war sie
in den mournful Zahlen
und wie Sie Traum der Sitzung konnten
machen Sie sich nicht um das unsichtbare Sorgen
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins

 



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