Verserzähler hat mich angeregt zu kruschteln, um dieses schon ältere Gedicht zu finden, das erfreulicherweise dieses Jahr so nicht zutraf.
There are curtains of rain.
The day outside is grey.
Trees still have leaves
that don’t move
in wind like yesterday.
All is wet.
The ground is soaking wet
from all the rain
since yesterday,
but the wood pigeons’ plump grey
bodies heavily move
the elderberry’s leaves.
The rain leaves
everything sopping wet.
I hardly move
under straight curtains of rain.
Today is grey
like yesterday.
Since yesterday
even the ashes’ leaves
seem ash-grey.
Wet curtains wet
them. In heavy rain
sheep don’t like to move.
Let us move
on from yesterday.
There will be rain,
but no leaves,
in the wet
of winter’s grey
months that lie ahead. Grey
bare-branched months. We’ll move
on soaked, wet
soil, like yesterday.
Today’s leaves
part of mud under boots and curtains of rain.
Then new leaves will move.
Rain will wet them again,
and winter’s grey will be yesterday.