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poem for pastors

die langen resounding Marmorflure
wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
ich bin in das Ödland gekommen, weil meine Seele athirst ist
die Masse hält etwas Erschütterungsgehen
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
hoch-getragenes Rennen
läßt lang das Sommertageslicht glänzen
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
über dem Fluß winken sie zu mir zu

 



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