Untitled: The stillness of the deceased loves the old garden,
The stillness of the deceased loves the old garden,
The madwoman who dwelled in blue rooms,
In the evening the still shape appears in the window
She, however, closes the yellowed curtain -
The trickling of the glass beads reminded of our childhood,
At night we found a black moon in the forest
The soft sonata sounds in a mirror's blueness
Long embraces
Her smile glides over the dying one's mouth.
poem by Georg Trakl
Added by Poetry Lover
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