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birthday poetry

ich weiß nicht wo
sind sie traurig, die nicht Liebe kennen
ich halte Ihr Herz
irgendwo las ich eine merkwürdige, alte, rostige Geschichte
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
Welt, die unter meiner Hand ändert
er spricht nicht gut
ich sagte
aber alas, gerade Träume
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz

 



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