Ein Gedicht von frank von frei
Weher
denn im Sessel
am Kamin
vor düstren Flammenschein
drückt keine Erinnerung.
Wenn das Kien knackt,
zwackt das Herz
und der Blick sackt
niederwärts
in die Glut auf dem Rost.
Und während von jenseits der Frost
die weißen Scheiben klirrt,
irrt diesseits ein alter Geist,
der Sehnsucht
nach den einst so jungen Tagen
heißt.
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