He’d appreciate the sun for the sun
And the cold for the cold,
Putting on a cardigan without fuss
He’d get into his jalopy
(As windy as a flying carpet)
And surf the streets
Around Tübingen,
Creeping up on the Jura
In first gear,
Getting out on a chalk plateau
And walk, walk, walk,
One with the ghosts
From time immemorial
When the plain
Was the bottom of a sea
– Niebla (copyright 2007)
niebla | fog 