Oh fountain of pale turquoise!
Oh rose tree in fiery flower!
How can I break off your blazing flame
and sink my lips into your freshness!
Deep fountain of loving,
fiery rose tree of kisses,
death commands us to march
to its bony chamber
The clear and implacable voice calls
from the deep night,
and during the day
from its box of miseries.
Oh, fountain, the fresh lips close
–
a drink would have given wings to that
one
who has fallen to Earth.
- home - picture gallery - writings - join-us - links -
Page last edited February 14,
2000
by: PhoneBoy