Quo imus?

In a field in a blizzard

a lamb standeth

holding a cross with one leg

and treadeth on a lion

In the blizzard it sees me not

in front of the white wall

from which I turn away my eyes

so that it shall not stare at me

In the field in the blizzard

the lamb sees me not

but the lion looks to the wall

and the wall looks at me

Like the lion I have bones and nerves and skin

but no mane, and

like the lion haveth not, I have

the urge to drink

Death away from my bones

Like the lion cannot ask:

Quo imus – where do we go?

and like the lion I cannot see

the way to walk towards the lamb

For the storm takes my words away

and the wall takes the storm