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.
 
 
   Mascha Kaléko

german