picture poem





a sweet girl

born 1953










I grew up in a nice house with a very nice garden. Surrounded by family, siblings and friends. Yet alone. A lonely child. Surviving solely by the fact, that it was allowed to be a creative child in my home. And also. We had a piano. A beautiful old piano. The very sight of it. I loved it. Having been taught notes since I was seven. Playing different kinds of recorders; soprano, alto, tenor, it was easy for me to find my way into the black and white world of the keys. And then. In the late sixties. A most ‘handsome’ western guitar arrived. Lost in the songs of Joan Baez Bob Dylan Joni Mitchell – I started to sing.






to be continued …