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grandma poem

einmal dieser weiche Rasen
sehen Sie, daß ich Ihnen mich gebe
wenn der Wind gegen uns in der Dunkelheit arbeitet
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
die einzelne zusammengeprgessene angehobene Faust und bereiten vor
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit

 



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