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short poem

desolate und einsam
seien Sie nicht mit mir verärgert
vor er war viele und viel einem Jahr
drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese
für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz
alle werfen die Jahre nieder
für dann außen
auf und ab geht ihn
während ich das Hören stand, diskret dumb
seien Sie nicht falsch
traurig sprechend


 



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