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The long recess was over, the class was dreaming of a heat-free day, but the headmaster spoke, the photographer is here. We spread out on the stairs, the combs were passed around, we stared as if spellbound at the photographer's hand. We wanted to catch the little bird in expensive black cameras, we pasted in pictures and we searched blindly for those sparkling lights that the girls had in their eyes on our mopeds that were scrapped long ago. The good years rushed by, we traded them in long ago, along with the pirate's treasure, for a job. We gratefully eat what the old man pours for us, with our heads bowed, but in the evening we drive up to the kindergarten gate. There it is again, the little bird, It nests in the wet hair of strange people who are our children, And the sparkling lights are where they were all these years, You just haven't lit them for a long time' ... https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerhard... https://ute-bella-donner.weebly.com/