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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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