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brother poem

Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
wenn der Wind gegen uns in der Dunkelheit arbeitet
weiße Schaumgummiblume, rote Flammeblume
es gibt eine Stunde des ruhigen Restes
ich brenne keinen Duft
lassen Sie einen Freudenunterhalt Sie
ich bin fevered
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
sie limps mit dem Anhalten des schmerzlichen Schrittes

 



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