Mara Schindler
Autorin

water


a l l e n g u t e n g e i s t e r n
a l l e n g u t e n g e i s t e r n
a l l e n g u t e n g e i s t e r n
a l l e n g u t e n g e i s t e r n
a l l e n g u t e n g e i s t e r n
a l l e n g u t e n g e i s t e r n
a l l e n g u t e n g e i s t e r n
a l l e n g u t e n g e i s t e r n
a l l e n g u t e n g e i s t e r n

u t e u t e u t e u t e u t e u t e
p u t p u t p u t p u t p u t p u t
u t e u t e u t e u t e u t e u t e
p u t p u t p u t p u t p u t p u t
u t e u t e u t e u t e u t e u t e
p u t p u t p u t p u t p u t p u t
u t e u t e u t e u t e u t e u t e
p u t p u t p u t p u t p u t p u t
u t e u t e u t e u t e u t e u t e

p a u l a p a u l a p a u l a p a u
l a p a u l a p a u l a p a u l a p
a u l a p a u l a p a u l a p a u l
a p a u l a p a u l a p a u l a p a
u l a p a u l a p a u l a p a u l a
p a u l a p a u l a p a u l a p a u
l a p a u l a p a u l a p a u l a p
a u l a p a u l a p a u l a p a u l
a p a u l a p a u l a p a u l a p a

l e s o l e i l e s t a v a n t g a
r d e l e s o l e i l e s t a v a n
t g a r d e l e s o l e i l e s t a
v a n t g a r d e l e s o l e i l e
s t a v a n t g a r d e l e s o l e
i l e s t a v a n t g a r d e l e s
o l e i l e s t a v a n t g a r d e
l e s o l e i l e s t a v a n t g a
r d e l e s o l e i l e s t a v a n     Le soleil est avantgarde, Josep Vallribera








o r k a n o r k a n o r k a n o r k
a n o r k a n o r k a n o r k a n o
r k a n o r k a n o r k a n o r k a
n o r k a n o r k a n o r k a n o r
k a n o r k a n o r k a n o r k a n
o r k a n o r k a n o r k a n o r k
a n o r k a n o r k a n o r k a n o
r k a n o r k a n o r k a n o r k a
n o r k a n o r k a n o r k a n o r
 

Die Erde ist ein Planet, der um die Sonne kreist.
Sie hat einen Bruder, der Mond heißt.

Clown's Secret

Without weakness, there could be no
s t r e n g t h

Without fear, there could be no
c o u r a g e

And without tear, there could be no
s m i l e


 

Moonlit Night

It was as if the heaven
Had kissed earth with its beam
That she in blooming glimmer
Must sweetly of it dream.

The breeze went over the fields
The ears were waving light
The woods were gently rustling
So starry was the night.

And my whole soul outspreading
Her wings abroad to roam
Flew through the sleeping land
As if towards its home.

Joseph von Eichendorff