Ein Zweig im ersten Eise,
friert vor sich hin.
Die Meise,
sieht es, bricht es,
setzt sich hin:
‚Dein Glück,
dass ich geblieben bin.‘
© Copyright Text Wolfgang Weiland
Lyrik, Prosa, Fotografie, poetisches in Wort und Bild
Lyrik, Prosa, Fotografie, poetisches in Wort und Bild
Ein Zweig im ersten Eise,
friert vor sich hin.
Die Meise,
sieht es, bricht es,
setzt sich hin:
‚Dein Glück,
dass ich geblieben bin.‘
© Copyright Text Wolfgang Weiland
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