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narrative poetry

drehen Sie mich unten durch die Wiese
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
ich bildete ein Versprechen einmal, eins nur
die Luft ist von Dämmerung und Frühling voll
zu, was eine Frau sie geliebt vergleicht
für dann außen
von Fußboden zu Decke
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein

 



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