A poem by Alfred Lichtenstein

In weary circles a sick fish hovers
In a pond surrounded by grass.
A tree leans against the sky - burned and bent.
Yes... the family sits at a large table,
Where they peck with their forks from the plates.
Gradually they become sleepy, heavy and silent.
The sun licks the ground with its hot, poisonous,
Voracious mouth, like a dog - a filthy enemy.
Bums suddenly collapse without a trace.
A coachman looks with concern at a nag
Which, torn open, cries in the gutter.
Three children stand around in silence.

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