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birthday poetry

ich bin der Wind, der wavers
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
glooms der Lebeneichen
drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese
ich schleuderte meine Seele zur Luft wie einem Falkefliegen
die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf

 



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