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poem for pastors

warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
ich bin eine Frau
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
es gab eine Zeit in den ehemaligen Jahren
aus dem Fenster heraus ein Meer der grünen Bäume
wir, die standen
er erklärt von den guten alten Zeiten
für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz
die Schiffe liegen in der Bucht
der Duft kam

 



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