Ich war ich,
für ein paar Stunden.
Ganz bei mir,
die Welt mir gleich.
Tiefste Trübsal
zog in Runden.
Ist ’s gar sie,
die macht mich reich?
© Copyright Text Wolfgang Weiland
Lyrik, Prosa, Fotografie, poetisches in Wort und Bild
Ich war ich,
für ein paar Stunden.
Ganz bei mir,
die Welt mir gleich.
Tiefste Trübsal
zog in Runden.
Ist ’s gar sie,
die macht mich reich?
© Copyright Text Wolfgang Weiland
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das mag wohl sein?
feine leise zeilen.
liebe grüße von diana