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famous poem

Ruhe als die zweiter Sommer
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
an der Dämmerung sagte er
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
Kurzschluß und süsses und wir sind zum Ende von ihm gekommen
haben wir keine Schande?
mit den meek, braunen Augen
haben Sie gesehenes Gehen durch das Dorf
ich brenne keinen Duft

 



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