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mother poem

wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
es gibt eine Stunde des ruhigen Restes
Geräusche, die sich bemühen heftig zu zerreißen
herauf von den Süden am Bruch des Tages
ich habe die stolzesten Sterne gesehen
für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
obwohl ich wenig als alle kleinen Sachen bin
geschaukelt in die Aufnahmevorrichtung vom tiefen
haben Sie gesehenes Gehen durch das Dorf


 



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