After the Rain

When childhood came to an end
wonder was finished too.
I stood, surely only yesterday,
at the field’s edge where poppy
and camomile told me fables,
I stared with my hand over my eyes
after the setting sun.
In the lime tree, older than war
and older than peace,
hung the Bürgermeister, listening,
head down, to the bees.
He had not meant it to be like this.