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poetry poem

sind Sie wach?
diese sind
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln
sind sie traurig, die nicht Liebe kennen
und während wir gingen, wurde das Gras schwach gerührt
ich habe sie in der Nacht gehört
drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese
tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
Gott
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
Bonbon mit Farn und stieg

 



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