Thursday, November 01, 2007

Winter Journey

The Old-Man's Head
The frost has spread a white sheen
All over my hair;
I thought I had become an old man
And was very pleased about it.
But soon it melted away,
And now I have black hair again
So that I am horrified by my youth -
How long still to the grave!
From the sunset to the dawn
Many a head turns white.
Who can believe it? And mine
Has not on this whole journey!

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