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sad poem

ich war eine Göttin, ere der Marmor mich fand
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
welches hält
von Song und Traum für überhaupt gegangen
die Schwärzung
erinnern sich Sie
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
verbessern Sie als Granit
ich weiß, was Sie sagen werden
ich sah ihn einmal vorher
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
unter den Rauch und Nebel eines Dezembernachmittages
was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt

 



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