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footprint poem

häufig denke ich an die schöne Stadt
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
die Schwärzung
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
was wir jetzt tut
als es
schauen Sie zurück mit longing Augen und wissen Sie, daß ich folge
es gibt ein, das dieses i einmal so sehr liebte
durch die rude Brücke
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang


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