After Ingmar Bergman
After Ingmar Bergman
And now that it is dawn
And the sun will soon come over the mountain
My wife’s warmth keeps me warm
My screams of fear is now a murmur
She dries spittle from my beard and speaks softly
Soon she will get up and make coffee
I let the aroma envelope me
The terror of the night and death subsides and
I will try to be kind and
Believe in a god that will lift me up to his heaven
And let me live forever.
But who will publish my poetry collections?
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