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poem for pastors

dieses ist der Song von Jugend
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
Roses und Gold
Blüten der Babys
ich stand das geöffnete Flügelfenster bereit
von Fußboden zu Decke
wenig Park, den ich durch führe
sie hörte die Kinder, in der Sonne zu spielen
umsponnen und gesponnen
um Mitternacht
Melancholie, Blau war sie
die alten Songs

 



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