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poem for dad

ich gehe meine Weise complacently
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
Frau vermißte viel, wie Sie zu mir benennen, Anruf zu mir
tat Sie hören überhaupt
Melancholie, Blau war sie
in allen Sachen gesprochen nicht von
Nacht ist dunkel und die Winterwinde
lassen Sie das reizende Wortunsaid
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais

 



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