The black snow which runs off the roofs; <br /> <br />A red finger dips into your forehead <br /> <br />Blue snow sinks in the bleak room, <br /> <br />The deceased mirror of lovers. <br /> <br />The head breaks in heavy pieces and ponders <br /> <br />After the shadows in the mirror of blue snow, <br /> <br />The cold smile of a dead strumpet. <br /> <br />In the smell of carnations the evening wind weeps.<br /><br />Georg Trakl<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/delirium-17/
