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mom poem

stern kalter Mann
Nacht ist dunkel und die Winterwinde
die hypocritic Tage
entlang einem River-side
eine Feder des Stahls
unter dem Helm des Warriors
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
mit Lippenblut Rot und Herz des Steins
auf und ab geht ihn
gegangen die drei, jene seltenen Schwestern
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
vor tausend leisen Jahren

 



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