Now the journey is ending,
the wind is losing heart.
Into your hands it's falling,
a rickety house of cards.
The cards are backed with pictures
displaying all the world.
You've stacked up all the images
and shuffled them with words.
And how profound the playing
that once again begins!
Stay, the card you're drawing
is the only world you'll win.
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Comments about this poem (Stay by Ingeborg Bachmann )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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