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sad poetry

entlang den Bänken
ich gehe hinunter die Gartenwege
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
wenn Nacht entlang den Straßen der Stadt treibt
ich bin alt und blind
einige windigere Tage
hohe Wände und sehr groß
sehen Sie, sie zurückgehen
und mit dem Summenvogel
desolate und einsam
durch das Ufer durch das Meer

 



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