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poem for pastors

Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
hören Sie den Regen?
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
unten gekommen an der Dämmerung von den windless Hügeln
ich gehe meine Weise complacently
plötzlich aus den dunklen und belaubten Weisen heraus

 



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