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type of poem

die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
den brennenden Gedanken kleiden
irgendwo las ich eine merkwürdige, alte, rostige Geschichte
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
mit Lippenblut Rot und Herz des Steins
glänzt das letzte Alter, das folgende mit Hoffnung wird gesehen

 



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