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sad death poem

ein Vogel sang
was ich Ihnen verdanken
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
dieses ist das Arsenal
liebe Frau
meine Mutter twines mich die Roses, die mit Tau naß sind
schön
gegangen die drei, jene seltenen Schwestern
unter den Rauch und Nebel eines Dezembernachmittages
noch dreizehn Jahre
unter dem Helm des Warriors
lassen Sie nicht hören
wir, die standen
Bruder, bin ich Feuer

 



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