SPRING
Through
desolate spring skies the sun broke clear.
A
flight of birds dropped in a sudden sheer.
The
thinly sown snow melted on the earth.
Heart,
you are free: you had no grounds for fear.
THE NIGHTINGALES
Of life my expectations have been slight,
Joy’s just a thing to which we go on clinging.
What does it matter? – In the cold spring night
Once more the immortal nightingales are singing.
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