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love poetry

Bruder, bin ich Feuer
unter den Bergen wandered ich
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
liegt hier eine schönste Dame
die Wiese kroch
dieses ist das Arsenal
gerade als meine Finger auf diesen Schlüsseln
ich wundere manchmal, mich wenn es wirklich zutreffend ist
tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch
allein
noch dreizehn Jahre

 



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