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sad poem

Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
während ich das Hören stand, diskret dumb
gegangen vor uns
schauen Sie zurück mit longing Augen und wissen Sie, daß ich folge
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
lassen Sie uns errichten
wenn der Wind gegen uns in der Dunkelheit arbeitet
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
gebildet vom loveliness alleine

 



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