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mom poem

für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz
unter den Bergen wandered ich
traurige Rolle der gedämpften Trommel hat Schlag
sie muß zurück gehen, sagte sie
in das leise Land
wenn ein Brief für Freiheit erfolgt ist
Bonbon mit Farn und stieg
haben Sie gesehenes Gehen durch das Dorf
die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln
über dem Fluß auf dem Hügel
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen

 



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