Dancing children made of stone,
holding hands with smiling faces,
time is biting through their skin,
is cracking it in different places.
Frozen eyes are staring blankly
round the circle that they form,
rags around the children's shoulders
were the last that they had worn.
It looks as if they were still playing
in the dim light of these halls
and their laughs reverberated
in the memory of these walls.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Norman Möschter.
Published on e-Stories.org on 08.08.2014.