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footprint poem

stieg und Bernstein war der Sonnenuntergang auf dem Fluß
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
die Sonne ist oben
schön
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
welches hält
ich bot sie aller Abschied

 



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