Lyrik, Prosa, Fotografie, poetisches in Wort und Bild
Die Pfütze lacht,
ein Knabe fuhr,
hindurch, mit Rad,
kam von 9 Uhr,
verließ sie dann auf 3.
Welch wonnig Spritzerei.
© Copyright Text Wolfgang Weiland
Ein alter Herr,
das Rennrad, weiß,
ist auf dem Weg
mit ihm, zum Greis.
Noch gestern fuhr
er mit ihm aus.
Ich seh‘ die Trauer,
Geleit nach Haus‘.
© Copyright Text Wolfgang Weiland
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