“Night is a game that death likes to play,
And dreams are the mind withdrawing from day,”
Breathless, a whisper, these words that she said,
Before I departed for war, and the dead.
We kissed and she blushed, an innocent still,
As we lay on the top of the welcoming hill,
Where birds sang in trees of nature’s delight,
While we talked of love, of wrong and of right,
We lay on the grass to melt with the sky,
The rosey-sun setting, the moon asking why,
We were one destiny, one body, one mind,
Yet with sunrise I left, to follow the blind.
One Voyce of the World 
Great poets think alike. See Bertolt Brecht’s Reminiscence of Marie A.
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Thank you Erika. I have read few of Brecht’s poems, mainly his plays, so thank you for the reference and your kind words.
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just read it-beautiful – moving
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Beautiful, and tragic at the same time.
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Very inspiring indeed.
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thank you, Olga
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