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death poem

ich hatte den Fall über-vorbereitet
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
jetzt für einen lebhaften und freundlichen Kampf
ich war eine Göttin, ere der Marmor mich fand
ich habe die stolzesten Sterne gesehen
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr überschritten
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
könnten wir aber zu wissen
unter dem Helm des Warriors
Töchter der Zeit
im September

 



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