Monday, October 4, 2010

Half Life

With golden pears it hangs
and full of wild roses
the land into the sea,
you proud swans,
and drunk with kisses
you dunk your heads
in the sober holy water.

Woe, where shall I take,
when it is winter, the flowers,
where sunshine,
and shadows of earth?

The walls stand
Mute and cold, in the wind
The flags rattle.

No comments:

Post a Comment