December Poem by Georg Trakl

December

Rating: 5.0


At evening jugglers travel through the forest

On quaint wagons, small steeds.

A golden stash seems locked in clouds.

In the white plain villages are painted.

The wind swings shield and billet black and cold.

A raven follows the morose comrades.

From the sky a ray falls on bloody gutters

And placidly a funeral procession pilgrimages to the cemetery.

The shepherd's hut dwindles nearby in the gray,

In the pond a brilliance of old treasures glistens;

The farmers sit down in the tavern for wine.

A boy glides shyly to a woman.

One still sees the sexton in the vestry

And reddish utensils, beautiful and dim.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Brian Jani 16 May 2014

Georg Amazing showcase of poetry, keep it up

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