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brother poem

ich bin eine Frau
Wille schimmern Sie auf dem Meer?
gegen die grüne Flamme des Weißdorn-Baums
ich fülle diese Schale
auf und an
was wir jetzt tut
machen Sie sich nicht um das unsichtbare Sorgen
meine Seele ist ein dunkles gepflogenes Feld
Moonlight tief und zart
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages

 



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