In German


Push them aside as gently as possible,
The trees as tall as the year they died—

Small white clouds,
Perfectly white, each one identical,
Pass in a slow procession overhead
Beyond a line of pines.

Dark blue, like early fall,
When half-recovered from my wound I sat
Beside the window again,
The thin grass soaked and glittering with rain,

And tall, immeasurably wide and tall,
The sky clears. Flies crawl
Over the horse's hide
Beaded with sweat. The saddle creaks,

But Nature is always kind and beautiful!
Quick birds darting through the blossoming tree,
Slow thunder, chimes—
No, we suddenly arrived.

Push them aside.
There is a gap in my existence here.















"In German"
copyright (c) by
Edwin Frank.
All rights reserved.