The old man cried
By the wall where old men cry –

Cold tears dropping on the grass
Hungry for light and warmth.

The old man cried
With anger and spite
Like a madman, like a cripple.
He cried to himself and to the wall and to the earth –
„May all be damned if I can’t have them”, he uttered.

The old man leaned broken against the wall
And for one second he heard his heart again
He had courage
He had will and faith –
That he can break that wall and reach the other side.

And the trees nodded, filled with hope
And the sun heated the air with anticipation
And the shadows vanished, fearful
And everything whispered: „This is right. Now is your time!”

But then the old man felt that second passing,
Flowing irreversibly, like blood through a wound,

Like all seconds pass, precious and rapid, cold as mountain creeks.

The wall still stood, high and strong
With gentle grass and pretty flowers near
Growing, ever softer, ever more alluring,
From tears.

And so –
The old man cried
By the wall where old men cry.