From a series of poems written during my stay in the Black Forest.
Sitting in the sun,
sometimes shaded
by passing clouds,
I was busy
killing time
staring at the flowers,
wild and alive,
between the railway lines.
All of a sudden,
a low lone fighter
cut through the silence
of this absurd place,
booming overhead.
How would the Augurs
have interpreted the course
of this strange iron bird?
I did not like it
for it carried
my thoughts to war.
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