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footprint poem

wenn Nacht entlang den Straßen der Stadt treibt
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
das endlose, dumme merriment der Sterne
sie sagte
ich stand das geöffnete Flügelfenster bereit
vor drei Jahren heute
lassen Sie einen Freudenunterhalt Sie
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell
gegangen vor uns

 



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