I am yours as the summer air at evening is
Possessed by the scent of linden blossoms,
One searches roads receding, endlessly receding, receding.
The other opens all doors with the same key.Simple.
One's quick to wrath, the wronged, the righteous, the wroth
As grit swirls in the wind the word spreads.
On pavements approaching the bridge a crowd
Springs up like mushrooms.
They are hushed at first, intently
They always start with quick and eager strides
--Even the one on crutches--up the hill.
The long-legged and the young soon reach the bend,
Then reappear above the heads of slower