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mom poem

wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
sie muß zurück gehen, sagte sie
schöne, tragical Gesichter
denken Sie, mein Junge, wenn ich meine Arme um Sie setze
aus dem tiefen heraus und die Dunkelheit
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit
eine Meile nach
Material des Mondes
so verloren

 



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