In the August 11 & 18 issue of the New Yorker, there's a poem by Bertolt Brecht. It doesn't say where or when he wrote it, the poem has no title, there is no mention of the original German. The poem was translated by David Constantine, who's not a German translator I'm familiar with. But the more I read the poem, the more I like it.
"Send me a leaf, but from a little tree
That grows no nearer your house
Than half an hour away. For then
You will have to walk, you will get strong and I
Shall thank you for the pretty leaf."
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