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christmas poems

meine Seele geht in den gorgeous Sachen plattiert
bleiben Sie nicht mehr
jene schwarzen Augen I einmal so gepriesen
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
Sturm
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
Sonne und Wind und Schlag von Meer
letzter Mitternacht
aber alas, gerade Träume
die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
gibt es jedes dort
ich liege am Tabellenberg
in die Dunkelheit und Frieden meinem abschließenden Betts
eine Feder des Stahls

 



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