Gedicht

She left. me

In all the world I have but found
no more than two interesting things:
her voice, when, stealthily, she sings
and poetry, to match that sound.

Let language whither to the ground.
The Information Age makes strings
of all my texts. They lose their stings.
Data - to rhythm no more bound.

Ever increasing nets are ruling.
Remembrances of her are gone.
From now on no one sings for pleasure..

Of all my ideas - what lives on?
Rhyme, rhythm - all the classic schooling
may share her fate - forgotten treasure...