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type of poem

er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
machen Sie sich nicht Sorgen, daß er rüber sein
den brennenden Gedanken kleiden
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
von der Sonne noch Sterne
und noch gingen sie an
alle beruhigen entlang dem potomac
desolate und einsam
Schriftsatz auf einer Fliegennacht

 



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