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funeral poem

ich starrte den prachtvollen Himmel an
ich fülle diese Schale
zu einigem die fetten Götter
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell
die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
und mit dem Summenvogel
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
alter Wein zum Trinken
jetzt, während meine Lippen leben
Töchter der Zeit

 



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