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brother poem

ich verachte meine Freunde mehr als Sie
das kleine mitfhlende, getragen, Lachengesichter
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
als es
Welt, die unter meiner Hand ndert
noch dreizehn Jahre
wenn ich zurck zu Masse gehe
wo ich sollen Sie, finden Sie Sie
durch das Ufer durch das Meer
den brennenden Gedanken kleiden

 



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