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child poetry

unter dem Helm des Warriors
Sonne und Wind und Schlag von Meer
rĂĽhren Sie sich
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
voll von den Rissen
es gibt kein Entweichen durch den FluĂź
ich verachte meine Freunde mehr als Sie
vor tausend leisen Jahren
schreckliche Wahrheiten diese sind
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
eine Feder des Stahls
sie muĂź zurĂĽck gehen, sagte sie

 



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