Volker Wulle
forget me-not, in this vale of tears, even when spring is coming in steps, the winter hiding in the sun, my chives growing in jubilation, a dead hawk falls from the sky, and I inspired by the spring cleaning.
Forget My ; on the upswing of your words, in your gaze, and when I bend under duress, my hump round bends.
forget my I , the affirmative sacrificing himself to die at last cut his blood in vain swells to the dignity
Forget you do not fallen into this valley, with loose stone in the wall came down.
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