At night in the village the watchman called: Elf!

A very little elf in the forest slept

Well for the elf!And thought it called to him from the valley By his name the nightingale, Or Silpelit had called to him. The elf rubs his eyes, Goes to his snail’s shell, And is as a drunken man, His sleep was not full done, And so he hobbles clumsily Through the hazel wood down into the valley Slips so close to the wall, There sits the glow-worm, light to light.

“What are those bright little windows? There will be a wedding in there: The little ones sit at the feast, And are doing it in the hall.

I’ll take a little peek, ‘No!”

- Fie, bang your head on a hard stone! Fairy, have you had enough? Gukuk! Gukuk!

People By Night

The nights are not made for the crowd. From thy neighbour the night separates thee and still you shall not seek him. And do you make your room light at night, to look people in the face, then you must consider whom.

People are terribly disfigured by the light, that drips from their faces, And when they are gathered together by night.., ...thou sees a tottering world... heaped up in confusion. On their foreheads a yellow glow has displaced all thoughts, in their gazes wine flickers, on their hands hangs... the heavy gesture with which they understand each other in their conversations; and with that they say: I and I and mean: Someone.

-RAINER MARIA RILKE

Behind seven palm brooms, which the landlord bought in a sale, you sit and read your newspaper and the waiters lean against the wall.

Hats swing on the coat racks hats swing on the coat racks, and the evening wind wants to change them into fruit. But hats remain what they are.

Stars make light advertising. Unfortunately, you don’t know exactly for whom. And the night is not a fine lady, but lets us see her vault.

In the renowned kitchen the fat cook roasts fillet and fish. And he delivers all the smells of his kitchen to the table for free.

If you were lying in a meadow and a deer came out of the woods, his first question would be this: “Kästner, shh! What’s your salary?”

So you stay sadly on your knees and think palm trees are nature. Flies sit on sweet lumps. And the moon is just the town hall clock.

Seven palm trees wave their fans, for they too are getting hot. And the night sits steaming on the roofs. And a guest orders vanilla ice cream.