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sad death poem

warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
die Bögen der roten Brücke
plötzlich aus den dunklen und belaubten Weisen heraus
alter Wein zum Trinken
hören Sie den Regen?
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
ich sah die Wolken unter den Hügeln

 



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