Maria Barbara Korynt
the last border
it brimmed over goblet of the bitterness
the worm has turned
and are scatter crumbs of the
life like the poppy of the grain
but I, I am not a Cinderella,
to gather them together I am not able,
I cannot. I, poetry of the life and growth
differently from you I understand.
and don't tell me that I don't feel!
tasting, I am savouring.
and you, you are knowing nothing about it,
because to know nothing you can.
in the glory and glitter, with joy
today you are ploughing your land.
and I, surely I am crazy?
oh no! I other I am collecting crops!
so don't demand from me that I become
your reflection. it would be for me an end
and true practical joke.and still
leave my thoughts, let at least something,
I have for myself. and when
I will feel bad I will say:
and what's more need passages,
because this way God wants.
when I will already be closely there,
by the last border, somebody
will count my mistakes and the service.
for you... and will charge for me.
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Comments about this poem (the last border by Maria Barbara Korynt )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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