Hans Dieter Schäfer
Lake Shore
The fish in the basket have stopped breathing.
The anglers are holding their rods diagonally.
The anglers are lost in their thoughts,
Their jackets faded like the letters
Which my mother’s mother put into her volume of
“Flowers and Fruits of German Poetry”.
The rain has glazed the garden chairs
And the cabin of the cable-car between the trees.
The anglers are leaving
As the cabin moves out of sight.
The anglers are leaving.
Translated by Ewald Osers
Page(s) 61
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