Inventory

This is my cap,

this is my coat,

here is my shaving set

in a linen bag.

A tin can:

my plate, my cup,

in the metal

I have scratched my name.

Scratched it with this

precious nail,

which I hide

from greedy eyes.

In my haversack are

a pair of woolen socks

and some things I don't

tell anyone about,

it serves as a pillow

at night for my head.

The cardboard lies here

between me and the earth.

The pencil lead

I love the most:

by day it writes verses for me

that I have thought up by night.

This is my notebook,

this is my canvas,

this is my towel,

this is my thread.