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modern poetry

Bruder, bin ich Feuer
allein
Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge
drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese
machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
ich wußte nie, daß die Masse soviel Gold hatte

 



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