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religious poem

das traurigste des Jahres
drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf
von Fußboden zu Decke
ängstlich nicht mehr, sage ich
jetzt, während meine Lippen leben
er spricht nicht gut
zu einigem die fetten Götter
als weiße Kerze
in den mournful Zahlen
ich hörte den Wind aller Tag
für Wahrheit für Liebe
schön
O angemessen und stately Mädchen, dessen Augen
ich bot sie aller Abschied

 



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