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pumpkin poem

Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
lassen Sie uns errichten
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
erinnern sich Sie
nie in meinem ganzem Leben
vor er war viele und viel einem Jahr
Nacht ist dunkel und die Winterwinde
sind sie traurig, die nicht Liebe kennen
wie das Glätten fällt
ich bin in der Liebe mit hohen far-seeing Plätzen
noch dreizehn Jahre
die Qual des Habens zu vieler Energie
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln

 



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