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death poem

in seinem vorsichtigen Zelt
meine Seele geht in den gorgeous Sachen plattiert
es ist zutreffend, daß Sie sagen, daß die Götter mehr Gebrauch zu Ihnen als Feen sind
drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf
Wille schimmern Sie auf dem Meer?
weich als das Bett in der Masse
ich bilde meinen Abschirmrahmen, aber niemand weiß

 



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