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thank you poem

schöne, tragical Gesichter
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
ich weiß nicht wo
sehen Sie, sie zurückgehen
in die Dunkelheit und Frieden meinem abschließenden Betts
durch die rude Brücke
ich sehe allen menschlichen Esprit
gestiegen von den Toten
Sie sind frei

 



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