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angel poem

unter dusky Lorbeerblatt
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr überschritten
ängstlich nicht mehr, sage ich
plötzlich aus den dunklen und belaubten Weisen heraus
meine Seele geht in den gorgeous Sachen plattiert
aber alas, gerade Träume
Sie sind schön und verblassen
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind


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