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poem for dad

im September
ich verachte meine Freunde mehr als Sie
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
schauen Sie heraus nach den Sternen, meine Liebe
die alten Songs
ein Vogel sang
in den mournful Zahlen
wölbte die Flut
Glasbläser der Zeit
sie muß zurück gehen, sagte sie
in die Dunkelheit und Frieden meinem abschließenden Betts

 



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