In the evening, when the bells ring peace,
I follow the wonderful flights of birds
That disappear in long rows into the clear vastness
Of autumn like a devout procession of pilgrims.
Wandering through the dusk-filled garden
I dream after their brighter destinies
And barely feel the motion of the hour hands.
Thus I follow their journeys over the clouds.
Then a whiff of decay makes me tremble.
The blackbird complains in bare branches.
Red wine sways on rusty trellises.
While like the death-dances of pale children
Around the dark edges of weathered fountains,
Shivering blue asters bend in the wind.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt