Under my arm, I carried
All my manuscripts
To a large field;
I’ve sown them, solemnly,
And planted them deeply
With a plough.
Let’s see what comes up
From these thoughts
Of joy, sorrow, happiness
In winter, spring, summer and fall.
Now I walk
Across the black field
Clasping my hands behind me,
More anxious every day.
Surely it’s not posssible
Not even one letter was right!
Surely, one day
This field will be filled with flames
And I will pass through them, solemnly,
Crowned as Nero was.
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