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poem and quote

hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
lassen Sie einen Freudenunterhalt Sie
ein Nebel fuhr unten
die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
die Bögen der roten Brücke
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
glänzt das letzte Alter, das folgende mit Hoffnung wird gesehen
Töchter der Zeit
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen


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