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sorry poem

diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
sehen Sie, daß ich Ihnen mich gebe
burly, DösenHumblebiene
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
ich bin alt und blind
ihr schönes Haar
in das leise Land
wenn der Wind gegen uns in der Dunkelheit arbeitet
nun da ich zu Ihnen abgekühlt bin
sie in der Schwärzungsversammlung und bitten
was ich Ihnen verdanken
der Schnee whispers über mich
wenn es

 



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