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graduation poem

traurig sprechend
mit Lippenblut Rot und Herz des Steins
die kleinen weißen Gebete
Meister der menschlichen Schicksale sind ich
und wie Sie Traum der Sitzung konnten
jenseits schauen
die Schwärzung
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
achtzig Jahre haben und mehr überschritten
die hypocritic Tage
fällt hier kein Licht

 



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