The place that I called home is doomed to death.

All those crouching bushes ravishing

My nurture, sucking up the healthy fluid.

Greedy fingers suffocate my stem

And greenish needles swiftly growing dark.

Nourishment is nevermore to reach

My deep and deeper running roots again.

Starving in hereditary wealth,

I’m thinking, asking, crying: sally forth!        

But old trees do not move, the hope – forlorn;

Stuck! And weed desertifies my home.

And every little inch of my own soil:

Henceforth ruled by parasites and pest.

And whensoever cometh my last dance,

Death will find me perishing with pride.

My Legacy is buried deep for times,

Safe and sound in dark eternal earth.

My dying wish: rainwater for my mind.

(JohannesJung)