Natas(C) A Poem by Pierre Rausch

Nostalgic, tragic alabastor,
After dark, the (rabby) pastor,
This is tender begin,
At midnight, I'd rose the evening,
Say when has the time come,
Crowing roster, the rising sun,
Hail the morning, the early morning,
As the dust as misst is foaming,

Natasha, this day, this hour no one knows,
All this sorrow lay so silent outside in snow,
Then you'd break the flask, that fragnent of the basks,
Sll this sorrow lay so silent outside,
Silenced these voices, these winter voices,
Horn as parable, as branches so tender,
All this sorrrow silently render,

Nats(c) ha, lest you coming suddenly,
A glorious day this shall be,
That it does not find you weeping,
For the moon and the stars have been weeping, it's all in
all,
Would you carry me to the end of the world, for I have no
legs
Could you listen, what they sing, for I have no ears