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autumn poem

seien Sie nicht falsch
tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
Frau vermißte viel, wie Sie zu mir benennen, Anruf zu mir
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen


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