16.06.2020
The Enchanted Garden
A garden of magic, a palace of paperflanked by two graceful towers.
The moon glitters over the roofs
like a ring on a jewellery box.
Pull the ring, and the palace
shall open like the box.
Always longing for one another,
stars shine their lonesome blazes.
Stars are massive, stars are bright,
so bright I have to shade my eyes.
In the alley, a chirping nightingale
gets heckled by strings and bows.
The lights of the palace grow dim
except from the highest windows
where shadows dance in a carnival
of kingly and queenly figures.
Further down, the fires have gone out
but for a gleam in the kitchen.
In the deep gloom beyond the garden,
behind the bars of openwork gates
stands the figure of a hunchback
bitterly resting his brow there,
catching glimpses of sparkling windows
as his cap sways to the music.
In bitter cold, in rain, in gales,
you stood firm and wise and merry.
What has befallen you tonight
when you heard the oboes sing?
Don't let these echoes sadden you,
rekindling unspeakable pains.
The figures will vanish at dawn
and take their oboes with them.