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thanksgiving poem

kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
süsses splendor
ich sah, daß Sie und shivering auf den Steinen hunched
winged Schatten, die vorbei fegen
in der LageSEIN, jede Seite jeder Frage zu sehen
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen
diese sind

 



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