It Is Only Tomfoolery Poem by Maria Barbara Korynt

as cloud of dust a mad,
it as poison, fatal venom poisons,
it is inflicting wounds after,
them a track already left permanent

a fool is pleased, with oneself is glad,
he wanted put still to beat out in fetters
he wanted to be proclaimed as the sage
and in order that entire world got to know him

he is wiping his eyes, thinking,
that the dream this way befuddled him
that he reaches the bottom
at least, a pillow under him soft.

but you lost - drink herbs!
and even better you will feel it
and before her more no longer kneel down
it is only tomfoolery.