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autumn poem

die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese
Roses und Gold
herrlich und schrecklich Ihre Liebe
babylon -- wo ich gehe zu träumen
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
wir legen
vor drei Jahren heute
Bonbon mit Farn und stieg
über ihnen alle, unten schauend
ich habe die Welt geworfen
wölbte die Flut

 



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