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father poem

ich starrte den prachtvollen Himmel an
ist häufig er nicht so?
wenn Nacht entlang den Straßen der Stadt treibt
nie in meinem ganzem Leben
ein Vogel sang
über dem Fluß auf dem Hügel
was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt
im Bereich
neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
sehen Sie, daß ich Ihnen mich gebe
drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese

 



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