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type of poem

weiße Schaumgummiblume, rote Flammeblume
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
ich hörte den Wind aller Tag
hohe Wände und sehr groß
machen Sie sich nicht um das unsichtbare Sorgen
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
wer den Regen liebt
schön
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
dieses ist der Song von Jugend
süsses splendor
seien Sie nicht falsch
hängen Sie keinen Wreath

 



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