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!

Latest issue

Enjoy my friend Adam's wonderful literary online journal, Danse Macabre. This issue is Europa, Europa!
There is astounding poetry and writing to be read...my contributions include a rare interview with a Polish composer and some Schubert in recital.