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thank you poem

einige windigere Tage
ich denke sie gerades herrliches
sie muß zurück gehen, sagte sie
verbessern Sie als Granit
sie sagte
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
ich singe Ihnen
drei Tage hörte ich sie, sich Sorgen zu machen, wann ich absolut lege
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf

 



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