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father poem

als Meer-Winde unsere Solitudes durchbohrten
truely
entlang den Bänken
der alte Westen, die alte Zeit
gegangen die drei, jene seltenen Schwestern
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
ich singe Ihnen
Nobility des Todes wieder
erklären Sie mir nicht
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
ich sah ihn einmal vorher
Hinausschieben, vainly kämpfend
wie Adler auf hoher Höhe

 



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