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short funny poem

der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
von Fußboden zu Decke
er wird gegangen
ängstlich nicht mehr, sage ich
der Duft kam
ich brenne keinen Duft
noch schaukelt ihr Grau Aufsatz über das Meer
ich wundere manchmal, mich wenn es wirklich zutreffend ist
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen

 



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