Der Tod Von Ein Dichter
not yet seen by others not yet devoured
all thy flesh not yet vain enough to lie
myself to sleep not quite through suffering
for i shall wait for the endless sleep
to quinch my thirst for death for my life
as an empty soul no river runs through
where the devils has left behind wrappings
torn from my body my gift of love for
another ripped away at the roots
to be placed in a jar to be preserved
for the rest of thy living life
no more weeping for a senseless pleasure
of breath for with every breath there's pain
so let me not ask you lord for light
for i only beg of you for death
the senseless death of a poet
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