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kid poem

vor drei Jahren heute
die kleinen weißen Gebete
es war der Herbst des Jahres
tat Sie hören überhaupt
ich bin fevered
ich starrte den prachtvollen Himmel an
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums

 



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