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mother daughter poem

mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang
und so geht sie
lassen Sie mich durch die Straße langsam bewegen
und noch gingen sie an
wenn es
Welt, die unter meiner Hand ändert
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
dort durch das Fenster im alten Haus

 



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