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grandmother poem

voll von den Rissen
weiße Schaumgummiblume, rote Flammeblume
ca. beschwerte sich zum Meister
ich liebe mein Leben, aber nicht zu gut
unter dem Erntemond
meine ganze Liebe für meinen Bonbon
als es
glänzt das letzte Alter, das folgende mit Hoffnung wird gesehen
in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
ich bin eine Frau
ich sterbe
und während wir gingen, wurde das Gras schwach gerührt
sie sagte

 



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