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sad poem

einmal dieser weiche Rasen
Meister der menschlichen Schicksale sind ich
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
Stern-Staub und vaporous Licht
wie ein blanker Mann ich gehen
nie in meinem ganzem Leben
wir waren nicht viele
Blüten der Babys
in den Hallen des Schlafes wandered Sie vorbei

 



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