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anniversary poetry

weiße Schaumgummiblume, rote Flammeblume
ich sterbe
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
er wird gegangen
die auf das Oberseite sagen, daß sie Sie, Masse kennen -- sie sind Lügner
geben Sie mich
seien Sie, Leben geduldig, wenn Liebe am Gatter ist
babylon -- wo ich gehe zu träumen

 



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