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grandmother poem

Sturm
ich bin alt und blind
wie Adler auf hoher Höhe
im Hafen neuen Yorks
sie konnte ihn im früheren Frühling gekannt haben
meine Seele ist ein dunkles gepflogenes Feld
Ginghamhund und die Kalikokatze
er wird gegangen
geben Sie mich
dunkel-eyed
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
Einfachheit
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe

 



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