There were three brothers
And a golden apple.
Then the dragon came, he killed
The brothers and ate the apple.
And the moon stood there,
Crying for his sister.
A boy was born so small, that its
Mother, with her poor eyesight,
Very often confused it with a fly,
Until one day she killed it with
The flyswatter, just when the boy
Screamed to the sky: “I am a real poet!”
When I was a boy, there was an old vampire
Who didn’t like to drink blood, only tomato juice.
During the long summer afternoons in
The backyard, we looked at each other, lifting
Our red glasses and nodding with understanding,
Because we knew what was coming.