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mom poem

vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
wir, die standen
Welt, die unter meiner Hand ändert
Sie sind schön und verblassen
geheimnisvolle Nacht
Ruhe als die zweiter Sommer
alter Wein zum Trinken
während ich das Hören stand, diskret dumb
meine Mutter twines mich die Roses, die mit Tau naß sind

 



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