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good bye poem

ich bin fevered
im September
gloom
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
die Masse hält etwas Erschütterungsgehen
noch schaukelt ihr Grau Aufsatz über das Meer
jetzt für einen lebhaften und freundlichen Kampf
ich sah mit geöffneten Augen
durch die ausgedehnten schmerzende Brust der Masse
traurige Rolle der gedämpften Trommel hat Schlag
so gefallen

 



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