I look through the barbed wire
directly at the flowing Rhine.
I dig myself a hole in the ground,
I have no tent.
I have no blanket either.
My coat is still in Opladen.
When I stretch out in my hole,
I don’t encounter any comrade.
For my bed I pluck lucerne.
At night I talk to myself.
The stars glitter overhead,
the Rhine murmurs to me.
Soon the lucerne will be dry,
the sky will cloud over,
the flowing of the Rhine will be without
words to send me off to sleep.
There will be nothing but rain—
no roof and no wall protects me—
on the paths the green
of spring will be trodden to slime.
Where are my comrades?
Oh, when it rains and storms,
the only ones to seek my company
are the louse and the earthworm.