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New Year

touch delicate fragrance

fanned already switched

what drunk

endured

stored

the glass again

eager expectations filled

like every year

the bells

ringing in the clear night

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I wish all my dear blog friends a good time

knit

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new glasses

...
the thoughts I choose to run

whether I liked

escape me again

I let fall

to take it

I will buy a new glasses

.

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good end

"Two more years," says the doctor. "There are the kidneys."

"short So," she says. "Then I will not waste time."

Two more years? Then I will finally live again!

I will all the money . Print "

invites the Feundin one on a long trip -.

perhaps a luxury cruise or something of this nature and refers to travel more and more pleasure

grow your well-being, less the balance .

Then one morning at the rail was the doctor.

"I have kept to their advice," she says,

"There's nothing left for me to manage.

I'm fine!

How could you be so sure??

The doctor looks at the sea and looks uneasy.

"Did you not get our letter?

They were two of the same name,

came in the morning practice ...

Swapped letters by mistake,

we had glimpsed it correctly.

We acted immediately and could only hope ... "

" Doctor, my bills are open ...!!!

Meanwhile, I am poor as a church mouse,

please help me out! "

disksutieren you. Now remember the two,

they can suffer very well.

The sea is blue, the sun shines.

you talk and talk and sit together at lunch.

The problem is almost vergesssen.

The sun sets ... You talk cheerfully.

The sun sets .... You look ecstatic, moved

the concerns in the distance.

the sea has never looked so enchanting.

"If you want," he breathed, "I'll shoot."

.

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pussy willow

pussy willow
December
Fell Calls
attention as
wrong time to flowering

Rose

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light

illuminated the city.
irritated eyes and senses
lonely surrounded by noise and light freezing

closed the shell. dance around


of town
snowflakes
bemützte
lanterns, there are steps and breathing

unerring aim
cozy warmth against the peace of rest

of security in their own cave
light heart

.

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dumpster

crunches under the feet of snow.

The ice of the Puddles breaks like glass.

busily running my dog,

in thick fog invisible. A raven croaks

in somewhere.

The breath whiter than fog.

The morning silence a pleasure.

Someone fed white, brown, green painted

mouths.

glass drumming on the walls, rattling bursts

to it.

insatiable bellies

play the double bass dull -

a dumpster Blues grounded

my fairy Eiskonzert.

there a short time later still, as before ...

crunches under the feet of snow.

soft thin out the fog.

I walk in the winter morning.

.

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Winter Blues poem

The sky is now mostly

overcast gray.

Gone away is the summer.

The colors more minor than major.

I open the door to a journey

the inner, where the soul resides.

and I'll still be rewarded.

The eye of the soul, which is free.

If I want it's selling

the fog.

If I want it, it looks

the sky bright and clear.

glittering, as he was often in the summer.

Because I want it, I shall reward

with a rainbow,

wonderfully shimmering

and gone is the dark

of thought wrinkles.

strengthened and happy, in spite of winter gray,

I can make neuenTag.

.