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autumn poetry

lassen Sie uns Pity die, denen besser seien Sie weg von, als wir sind
ich bete nicht für Frieden
ich habe sie in der Nacht gehört
gestern Abend legte der Vollmond ein Tuch von Weiß
er erklärt von den guten alten Zeiten
ich bin in das Ödland gekommen, weil meine Seele athirst ist
sehen Sie, daß ich Ihnen mich gebe
er spricht nicht gut
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
Schlaf süß in Ihren humble Gräbern


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