Eines Sommers
von Sigune Schnabel
verdampfte meine Kindheit
zwischen Löwenzahn
und rotem Klee.
Die Farben der Blumen
wurden blasser,
und die Äpfel schmeckten fremd
auf der Zunge.
Ich sprang von der Schaukel,
taumelte durch die Luft
und stolperte im Gras
über mich.
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