At the Moor
Wanderer in the black wind; softly the dry reeds whisper
In the stillness of the moor. In the gray sky
A flock of wild birds follows;
Slanting over gloomy waters.
Turmoil. In decayed hut
Putrefaction flutters up with black wings.
Crippled birches sigh in the wind.
Evening in deserted tavern. The way home is scented all around
By the gentle gloom of grazing herds,
Apparition of the night: toads plunge out of silver waters.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt