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child poetry

wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
ich liege am Tabellenberg
was spiteful Wahrscheinlichkeit unawares stiehlt
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
in ihren zackigen regimentals
rühren Sie sich
süß und stark
obwohl Lieberepine und Grundscheuern
könnten wir aber zu wissen
jetzt für einen lebhaften und freundlichen Kampf

 



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