Hanging on
the edge of a coin,
Lives a dwarf,
Waiting…
For it to flip,
Heads or tails.
On his left,
An old watch,
That counts only years,
And meters of beard.
When the needle points down,
The coin falls,
Without noise.
Waving mid-air,
A flapping beard,
Is singing a song,
That didn’t make it into a fairy tale.
Yet.
Halfspoken 