White sky, milky grey
He wondered what to say
Something fell of sky
He looked up very high
Out of sight was the Sun
Birds flew and had fun
A crow on the branch
Looked at him as if laughed
His right hand to his head
He noticed, it was wet
A look at lines in palm
He frowned and lost calm
Was not rain or snow
Not perfume and not dew
He shouted with anger
“It is shit”
Then he laughed:
“This is me and my luck;
Tons of gold come like rain
Not one drop; but this shit…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem