A summerday-morning, so early. . .
the silver-white sun rises slowly,
light pierces mercyless into my face through the open window.
As I stand up I yawn at her, and stretch my body and limbs.
This time has been set in a morning-dream not to go through,
stopped by awful ringing of the alarm-clock beside my bed.
Now the velvet twilight has fled secretly following the night
the torn haze at the ground as misty remains of her sigh.
Dewdrops glitter yet a while with rainbow colours
on spiders work, on leaves. . . as everything moves.
I take a deep breath and the air feels fresh as summer breeze,
smells full and delicate not yet polluted by any means.
And now, alone, I am alone this day there is nobody with me
on this beautiful day with so much to say,
to consider, to talk elated, it cannot be.
Oh woman, where are you with your laughter
can I still hear your voice. . .
You don't talk anymore, you even don't weep, how can it be. . .
The emptyness dominates the joy of the new day
A hopeless and spiritless feeling since you went away. . .