Wer reitet dort oben am Himmel
Hoch übers Land, weit übers Meer
Auf 'nem Vogel, so weiß wie ein Schimmel
Wildgänse rings um ihn her
Verloren sind so viele Silben
Kannte man's doch nur ungefähr
Und wenn nun auch die Blätter vergilben
Schadet das nicht uns'rer Mär
Wir kennen den Kleinen so gründlich
Tief in uns drin schreibt er nicht mehr
Denn Geschichte vererbt sich auch mündlich
Erinnerung ist gar nicht so schwer
Was wird uns der Schwarm nur einst bringen?
Wird er noch groß? Wächst er noch sehr?
Er wird weiterhin leis' in uns singen
Bis zu 'ner Wiederkehr
© 2016
Für KJYB
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You see, here you'll find poems and prose of opportunity and seasons. They're ours, though, so we have to protect them. Respect! Thank you!
Readers are welcome! If you are willing to follow the iconian path, you should know that it is always you we are talking to, even if it is not. And that everything is true, even if it is not. We all are eternally united in the last space possible where even the impossible is real. We ought to believe the foretold: If we'll meet tomorrow, next year, or never, it doesn't matter, it's only time! And everything, even time is fiction.
By the way, typos and other mistakes - we know there are many. If you can be bothered, please let us know. Thank you! And for any legal issues, please contact us before we have to tell you that we're skinned. But you can also write, of course, if you like what you read. Please, write to the webmaster.
