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retirement poem

unten gekommen an der Dämmerung von den windless Hügeln
in den Hallen des Schlafes wandered Sie vorbei
ich brenne keinen Duft
dieses Jahr
ich bete nicht für Frieden
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
die Bögen der roten Brücke
ca. beschwerte sich zum Meister
aus dem funkelnden Meer heraus
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit

 



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