Meike Schrut

At night for MY birthday?!

How I arrive
To think in yours.
Or his, even THEIRS or YOURS...?
Mistake almost how old YOU become
And my friend is.
48? 47?
To me this makes no difference anyhow
With a man, which I to me for all time
Jung wishes.
Think by now in
The December days-cold uncomfortable ones.
(Who has already in such a month birthday...
Yes, thus many, also YOU. )
The anyhow special day
In I also never thought before for what
I never gave him flowers - a man needs no undergrowth
Does one say thus?
Of course I dispatch neither presents nor letters also no map
It would strike my friend.
However, how much joy would arise generally with him?
If one thinks, that long last year
The only mother died - every person has only one.
22.12. In 1962 - why I should consider this date
Why it forget, however.
28.12. In 1993 why he should think of this day
Why, however, forget this sad day.
Flower dreams drift away in the icy December wind
In the heart maybe only frosty cold
And lonesome grief.
A man needs in days of death flowers so seldom?
Yes, I far lean from the window, I know.
Somewhere the part of a song:
Innkeeper to me no flowers - give them not.
I will not do it certainly,
Presents can hurt every now and then more than one thinks.

 

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Meike Schrut.
Published on e-Stories.org on 10/11/2009.

 

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