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footprint poem

dunkelstes, merkwürdigstes Geheimnis
wir waren nicht viele
der Schnee whispers über mich
zwei Reihen der Kohlpflanzen
rühren Sie sich
wie wild, wie Hexe-wie sonderbares, das das Leben sein sollte
ich liebe die alten melodious Lagen
die Lattentagesdrowses auf dem westlichen durchtränken
mein Sohn ist tot und ich bin gehender Vorhang

 



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