Death

Our death is in the cool of night,
our life is in the pool of day.
The darkness glows, I’m drowning,
the day has tired me with light.

Over my head in leaves grown deep,
sings the young nightingale.
It only sings of love there,
I hear it in my sleep.

by Heinrich Heine

Comments (14)

true follow the add as light in the day let the sunshine rise
that is awesome poem
Simply amazing touch in this poem...nice one
Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~
oh my God....what a way to portray ones transient to the beyond
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