Winter King

Winter King 

     Is it His words you desire, His icy breath? 

Dust of our dust spared because the Winter King 

     loves this glacier He sleeps atop? 

He hates the carpenter as much as He hates 

     our angel--: Desolation, His crow that chases us 

throughout the city.     Reduced to ashes, 

     our homes no longer have numbers 

and our streets have no signs nor do our lanes. 

     If His crow resumes, we will have no lovers left. 

Konvalinka could bloom over our graves 

     this month.     He will never be joyful if we 

survive this May, if our angel blesses us. 

     Even our ghosts He despises. If His crow 

could eat them, everything else might disappear. 

     "Mein Flügel ist zum Schwung..."