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prose poetry

machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
durch die ausgedehnten schmerzende Brust der Masse
hören Sie den Regen?
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
alle werfen die Jahre nieder
süß und stark
jene schwarzen Augen I einmal so gepriesen
die Sonne ist oben
süsses splendor

 



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