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romantic poetry

welches hält
ein Leben auf der Ozeanwelle
er wird gegangen
ich bot sie aller Abschied
mittlere Vergnügen und Paläste, obwohl wir durchstreifen können
Glasbläser der Zeit
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
mit den meek, braunen Augen
obwohl ich wenig als alle kleinen Sachen bin
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
Sie sind schön und verblassen
eine Meile nach

 



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