Flutter, flutter
on the window,
letters will arrive so soon,
Bringing news
of loved Berliners
this is war,
we love the moon.
Morning spat
into the mist,
wings long gone
windows kissed.
Smudges attract
moths just like light,
eat of our thoughts,
spawn a new blight.
I like this poem a lot, Herbert, but in the second stanza, last line, I would leave off the word 'was..' The meter would be better there, I think. Raynette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, Lamont you are right. It was actually a bit of emotion misdirected at you. I try to either keep a civil tongue or hold it altogether. Best H