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sorry poem

weich als das Bett in der Masse
weich jetzt das Licht des Tages
weich weinend
Sturm
ich mag es
als es
ruhig mit reverance, im Awe
desolate und einsam
glänzt das letzte Alter, das folgende mit Hoffnung wird gesehen
Sie sind mein Begleiter
rühren Sie sich
ich bilde meinen Abschirmrahmen, aber niemand weiß
sind Sie wach?

 



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