How many dreams is

is it worth, my life?

What remains unsaid?

And what unknown to me?

What do I not want to know, 

and yet, me looking into the

eyes of the Great Bear up in the sky.

How many more nights

shall I lie awake,

relieved by a single word?

How much will be

just enough

for me to speak freely

of the

autumn crocuses and the

red maple.

Letting go for

even the dark days.

I have lived through, and

beneath my bark:

Each year a

new ring bestows upon me.

New songs.

And when then

early in the morning

mist drifts through the

meadows, I will let go of

my leaves,

like my friend

faithful to the wind

and without

any bitterness.

–

from: „erdgeboren (earthborn). Gedichte.“ (c) Thomas Pätzold 2026