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grandmother poem

der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
ein kleiner Pfirsich im Obstgarten wuchs
und so geht sie
es gibt kein Entweichen durch den Fluß
ein Fliegenwort von hier und dort
auf und an
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
eine Meile nach
Moonlight tief und zart

 



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