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narrative poetry

gute Frau
um Mitternacht
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden
in den Wolke-grauen Morgen
welches ich erwähnen möchte
wickeln Sie die Masse im bewölkten Wetter auf
alle beruhigen entlang dem potomac
ein Nebel fuhr unten
wir legen
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet

 



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