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grandma poem

machen Sie sich nicht um das unsichtbare Sorgen
Glasbläser der Zeit
die auf das Oberseite sagen, daß sie Sie, Masse kennen -- sie sind Lügner
ich weiß nicht wo
lassen Sie mich durch die Straße langsam bewegen
um Mitternacht
ihr schönes Haar
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
wenn Nacht entlang den Straßen der Stadt treibt

 



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