The gray hair
A withered summer
leaf fell at my feet.
- Your first gray
hair. It spoke to me:
May is over. The
first snow sends its greetings.
It is already
dark. Night is coming.
Soon the storm
wind will knock on the windows.
In the lime tree,
which was so full of singing,
Crouches silent
and gloomy a flock of crows.
Do you hear the
rain dripping from the roofs?
Thus spoke to me
the first gray hair.
But then I became
aware of your gaze,
Then I saw you, my
love, smiling in the mirror.
You nodded
knowing: Yes, that's how it will be.
And your eyes
asked me, in the mirror,
Will the
nightingale leave me alone in autumn?
And my eyes told
you in the mirror:
Come, wind and
rain, come ! There are two of us.
The gray hair, I
look for it, in the mirror.
The first kiss on
it, that was my seal.