Brecht

To M

That night, where you didn't come

I didn't fall asleep, but often went outside

And it rained, and I went back inside.

Then I didn't know, but I do know now:

That night it was already, as in those later nights

Where you never came again, and I didn't sleep

And I almost didn't wait any longer

But I often went outside

Because it rained out there, and was cool.

But after those nights and even in later years still

I heard when the rain dripped, your steps

Outside and in the wind, your voice

And your crying at the cold corner, because

You could not get in.

This is why I often got up in the night and

Went outside and opened the door and

Let in those who had no home.

And there came beggars and whores and riffraff

And all kinds of people.

Now many years have gone by, and even though

Rain still drips and wind goes

If you came now in the night, I know

I wouldn't know you anymore, neither your voice

And nor your face, because it is changed.

But even now I hear steps in the wind

And crying in the rain and that someone

Wants to get in.

(Even though you never did come then, love, and it was me that waited—!)

And I want to go outside

And open the door and see if no one has come.

But I don't get up and don't go outside and don't see

And no one comes anyway.

—b.b.