Retrospective

To Karl Minnich

Brown chestnut trees. Quietly the old people glide
Through the stiller evening; beautiful leaves wither tenderly.
At the cemetery the blackbird jokes with the dead cousin,
The blonde teacher escorts Angela.

Pure images of death gaze from church windows;
Yet a bloody cause seems very mournful and cheerless.
Today the gate remains locked; the sexton has the key.
In the garden the sister speaks cordially with ghosts.

In old cellars the wine matures into gold, clarity.
Apples smell sweet. Joy shines not too far away.
All evening long children gladly hear fairy tales;
Also in gentle insanity gold, truth often come out.

The blue flows full of mignonettes; candlelight in rooms.
For the modest, their place is well prepared.
Along the edge of the forest a lonely destiny glides;
Night, the angel of rest, appears on the threshold.