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good bye poem

aber alas, gerade Träume
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
so gefallen
wenn ein Brief für Freiheit erfolgt ist
aus dem funkelnden Meer heraus
fällt hier kein Licht
über den Dachspitzen laufen Sie die Schatten der Wolken
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
während ich das Hören stand, diskret dumb
wenn, voll von der warmen und eifrigen Liebe

 



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