Poem Hunter
Down At The Roots
(04 October 1943 / Germany)

Down At The Roots

I'd spent some time there
on exquisite dunes,
before a gust blew in from Belvedere
and played a melody like looney tunes.

I slip and plummet down the slopes,
a copse awaits and breaks a careless fall,
awakened are, through scents, forgotten hopes.
Is this the foyer to a long lost Royal Hall?

And pleasant is the ambience, I stay because it suits.
An ancient melody, its plaintive promise sweet,
as moisture trickles down to thirsty roots
and whets the appetite, there in the heat.

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