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contemporary poetry

Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern
holen Sie mir weichen Song
seien Sie nicht falsch
über dem Fluß auf dem Hügel
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
gaily durch die Felder tanzten wir
die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
geschaukelt in die Aufnahmevorrichtung vom tiefen
einmal dieser weiche Rasen

 



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  • Briefs: New location for Heights Finance - Daily News Journal (subscription)
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