And again the birds fly away
leave no track of her how
they would also be able.
Whether invariably or forever
- you were the gardener who looked after the plants and maintained so well.
Also I have believed, she played with you,
the timid, shy man (oh, man how much are in this role only you again? If one may say: "Thus you would be in reality!"?).
She did not do it, she loved you too much, too late you have learnt from it.
One saw the birds flee the place where it happened once and again it will happen because you wanted it.
In your last day dream you were with her,
will be it for good, luckily also only an imagination:
the fascination of this film which searches his equals, but will not find.
In the Spanish song which I do not understand luckily
I anticipate only your magic.
I anticipate that one could never avoid you and today it makes to me only almost fear.
Yes, I live my dream in which I lose a little more my fear every day and only want to seal,
your being describing, in other kind:
"You are of the forever young remaining."
Maybe my whole remaining life long.
Will I hate you one day for it?
I hope and do not wish it.
Since if my words let like a melody be! If one may invent to my words still the music that it might reach your heart.
It is a quiet prayer,
but only one very quiet,
about that no one may be amused!
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Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.de am 10.07.2010. - Infos zum Urheberrecht / Haftungsausschluss (Disclaimer).