climbing up the hill,
with ancient houses pretty
and cobble-stone alleys still.
Up high a bulwark from times of power
downward directs the idlers´ eyes,
stopped by a thick-walled dungeon tower,
that choked the wretched witches cries.
The red-stone water-palace tower
matched emperor Barbarossas hair;
Legend claims his heart in the power
of a roving forest maiden fair.
Where once the river served as moat
and a busy port harboured many a boat,
gravestones now are piled up high -
whispering to the wanderer: why?
The Lion's Inn may have seen a joust
between the devil and Dr. Faust,
a spark of which over time and space,
perhaps set Philipp Reiss´ imagination ablaze.
And when the sunset-coloured spires,
the half-timbered houses in black and white,
were darkened by a war's atrocious fires
a poet bore record to the turn of your tide.
City with secret cellars and wells,
your manifold magic conveys
enchantments from outdated days,
and ties up the wanderer with spells.
Dieses Gedicht gefällt mir irgendwie. Deshalb habe ich es einfach dupliziert: von der Webseite www.e-stories.de.
Ob mit oder ohne Genehmigung des Autors? Dreimal dürfen Sie raten ... :-).
Textstand vom 16.06.2023
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