Follow the moss
along the wall;
read the language
of the cracks;
pay attention
to the rooks
cursing the clouds
above your head;
hear the tolls
of bells across
the sooty red bricks
of Petersdorf;
and watch the leaves
departing lindens,
sailing over
the iron gate
to lie among
the faded letters,
the withered flowers
and toppled stones.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem