Winter, yes, it is winter:
Mother Holle shakes out beds
Children go completely pleasedly home
- freely of cold-!
Snowman is built quite fast and cars which resist the smoothness on the streets.
How they strive quickly to the earth: the small, big flakes which melt, nevertheless, if my hand it wanders.
Stripes? And I wander from the tracks of the recollection when
frosty my face was still, it was freezing so badly and anyhow all that has not been glad me.
Yes, I longed on big mountain for warm sand, for heat of the summer always over and over again...
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Meike Schrut.
Published on e-Stories.org on 16.12.2010.