Ich habe ja angekündigt, noch in diesen Thread torkeln zu wollen, leider kann ich jetzt meiner erschöpften Augen wegen nichts mehr lesen und weiß daher nicht, was gerade besprochen wird. Aber es stört bestimmt niemanden, wenn ich meine Beiträge aus dem Forum, dessen Namen ich nicht nennen werde, in mein neues Zuhause verpflanze, ich möchte schließlich so schnell wie möglich in eines dieser beiden Häuser: 
Als mir vor einigen Wochen die Worte fehlten...
For your information Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is know as the Draught of the Living Death.
[Blockierte Grafik: http://i166.photobucket.com/albums/u101/Schattenlilie/Asphodeliengrund/0002058020asphodel2020mini.jpg] [Blockierte Grafik: http://i166.photobucket.com/albums/u101/Schattenlilie/Asphodeliengrund/Absinth_Wormwood.jpg]
Asphodel, That Greeny Flower
by William Carlos Williams
Of asphodel, that greeny flower,
like a buttercup upon its branching stem-
save that it's green and wooden-
I come, my sweet, to sing to you.
We lived long together a life filled,
if you will, with flowers. So that
I was cheered when I came first to know
that there were flowers also in hell.
Today I'm filled with the fading memory
of those flowers that we both loved,
even to this poor colorless thing-
I saw it when I was a child-
little prized among the living
but the dead see,
asking among themselves:
What do I remember that was shaped
as this thing is shaped?
while our eyes fill with tears.
Of love, abiding love it will be telling
though too weak a wash of crimson
colors it to make it wholly credible.
There is something something urgent
I have to say to you and you alone
but it must wait while I drink in
the joy of your approach,
perhaps for the last time.
And so with fear in my heart
I drag it out and keep on talking
for I dare not stop.
Listen while I talk on against time.
When I was a boy I kept a book
to which, from time to time,
I added pressed flowers until, after a time,
I had a good collection.
The asphodel, forebodingly, among them.
I bring you, reawakened,
a memory of those flowers.
It is a curious odor, a moral odor,
that brings me near to you.
The color was the first to go.
There had come to me a challenge,
your dear self, mortal as I was,
the lily's throat to the hummingbird!
I cannot say that I have gone to hell
for your love but often
found myself there in your pursuit.
I do not like it and wanted to be
in heaven. Hear me out. Do not turn away.
I have learned much in my life from books
and out of them about love.
Death is not the end of it.
