Author Paul Celan I hear, the Axe has flowered, I hear, the Place is un-nameable, I hear, the Bread, that looks on him, heals the Hanged-Man, the Bread, his Wife baked for him, I hear, they name Life our sole Refuge. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments