Poem Hunter
(04 October 1943 / Germany)


There was, yes, once upon a time
a hermit, who, with cause unknown,
had left society to climb
down from the ladder on his own.

He had decided that he could
not tolerate their dusty rules,
and that he, therefore, rather would
live seperate from those fools.

He built his cabin in the centre
of thickest brush and nasty thistles.
Remained the only one to enter,
it was his home of bells and whistles.

A stove, a bed, a chair and table.
Two pots, a cup, a small bookshelf.
That's what he wanted, to be able
to live and talk just with himself.

User Rating: 4,5 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

Yes and paint your face a whiter shade of pale with blood red lips and have a dog like digger, dress like tarzan, look like jane REGARDS AJS
Ahh the life of a recluse...