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narrative poetry

gibt es jedes dort
er würde sogar seinen Witz haben
läßt lang das Sommertageslicht glänzen
den brennenden Gedanken kleiden
in das leise Land
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
ich denke sie gerades herrliches
Musik I hörte mit Ihnen war mehr als Musik
in den Wolke-grauen Morgen
wenn, voll von der warmen und eifrigen Liebe
war sie nicht für diesen einzigartigen Geruch
über ihnen alle, unten schauend
neben einem geschlagenen Feld

 



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