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thanksgiving poem

Sonne trat unten von seinem goldenen Throne
als weiße Kerze
gaily durch die Felder tanzten wir
die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
Sturm
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln
ich mag es
Bruder, bin ich Feuer
liebe Frau

 



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