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mother daughter poem

die Sonne ist oben
so verloren
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
als Meer-Winde unsere Solitudes durchbohrten
Bonbon mit Farn und stieg
sehen Sie, daß ich Ihnen mich gebe
neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen

 



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