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poem for pastors

die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
ich bot sie aller Abschied
einige windigere Tage
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
noch dreizehn Jahre
ich liebe mein Leben, aber nicht zu gut
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
wenn ich gekonnt hatte, Enge ein Gefängnis Liebe ist
ich erwarte Sie


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