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thanksgiving poem

dunkel-eyed
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
ca. beschwerte sich zum Meister
was wir jetzt tut
machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
und noch gingen sie an
geben Sie mich
das Licht zurückgenommen
über ihnen alle, unten schauend

 



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