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fall poetry

wenn ich sehr sicher war
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
desolate und einsam
lassen Sie hören
ich sterbe
haben wir keine Schande?
ich wundere mich, wo Sie leben
Überschreiten durch die huddled und häßlichen Wände
Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
gegangen vor uns
diese alte silberne Schüssel von meinen

 



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