With dark gazes the lovers look at each other,
The blonde, radiant ones. In stiffening gloom
Their yearning arms delicately entwine.
Purple, the blessed one's mouth broke open. Round eyes
Mirror the dark gold of the spring afternoon,
Edge and blackness of the forest, evening fears in the green;
Perhaps the untold flight of birds, the unborn's
Path past gloomy villages, lonely summers
And sometimes the deceased step out of waning blueness.
Softly the yellow corn rustles in the acre.
Life is hard and, steely, the countryman swings the scythe,
The carpenter joins enormous rafters.
In autumn the leaves tinge crimson; the monastic spirit
Wanders through cheerful days; the grape is ripe
And the air festive in spacious courtyards.
Yellowed fruits smell sweeter; the laughter of the joyful
Is soft, music and dance in shady cellars;
In the dusking garden, step and silence of the dead boy.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt