A poem of my grandpa Heinrich, who lived as a notary in Erlangen and fathered my dad and five brothers and sisters for him. He liked to write poems and my dad and his brothers and sisters edited them for my grandma when he died in 1985. I know some of them by heart and here comes one of them. It deals with the death, and one day after London terrorism this is always on my mind. What a bunch of dicks, I hate these terrorists. Heads up, London citizens. The poem was originally in German, I try to translate it.
During the years I became
a dry leave on the tree of life.
But still I have the strengh
for a loose hang on my branch.
It eases me when in the earliness
the morning sun rises and warms.
The last swallow encircles me
ready for the fly to the south.
A gust of wind an my fall