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2004-08-18 | |
I take the bus that goes to you, my friend!
Now I know the way will never bend,
Since I see
The poppy lace that grows in France for me
So red by the field
That it is like a shield.
I taste the bread that is for you, my girl!
Grain seeds and poppy seeds together whirl
In the rain.
They contaminate each other on a German plain
To make you dream
And not only seem.
I drink the wine my grandpa made for you!
He put in it lime blossom bright and new
Soon you can see profligate stars deploy
And break black horses
When the day closes.
I dream the dream that comes from you, my boy!
Veils of light surrender in shy joy
While they sing
The aching, sweet song of the windy ding
That hovers in you,
My tall night blue.
It is so good that you exist, my heart!
There, somewhere in the eastern part
Of the world,
You cut the truth with a smiling, silent sword
And give it to me
So that I can be.
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