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short poem

ich sah die erste Birne
jetzt, während meine Lippen leben
ich bin eine Frau
schön
jenseits schauen
ich fülle diese Schale
Tage endeared zu jedem MUSE
wölbte die Flut
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
ich erwarte Sie
einmal dieser weiche Rasen
Melancholie, Blau war sie
unter dusky Lorbeerblatt
die Schwärzung

 



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