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funeral poem

entlang den Bänken
ich fülle diese Schale
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
meine Mutter twines mich die Roses, die mit Tau naß sind
die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
sie in der Schwärzungsversammlung und bitten
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
ich liebe mein Leben, aber nicht zu gut
Sie sind frei

 



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