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baby poem

ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
das kleine mitfühlende, getragen, Lachengesichter
noch dreizehn Jahre
es gibt ein, das dieses i einmal so sehr liebte
Roses und Gold
weiße Schaumgummiblume, rote Flammeblume
so gefallen
die Schwärzung rollt aufwärts
gibt es jedes dort
die kleinen weißen Gebete
ich habe die stolzesten Sterne gesehen
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden

 



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