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death poetry

Sie sind frei
seien Sie in mir als die ewigen Stimmungen
warum
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln
auf und ab geht ihn
Tag ist erfolgt
als Meer-Winde unsere Solitudes durchbohrten
und während wir gingen, wurde das Gras schwach gerührt
ich bin vom Sein bitter und träge vom Sein klug träge

 



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