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grandmother poem

das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
dieses ist der Song von Jugend
aus dem tiefen heraus und die Dunkelheit
gegangen vor uns
sehen Sie, daß ich Ihnen mich gebe
im Hafen neuen Yorks
durch die rude Brücke
ihr schönes Haar
in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
Überschreiten durch die huddled und häßlichen Wände
vor langer Zeit im jungen Moonlight
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich

 



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