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sorry poem

sehen Sie das vorläufige
schöne, tragical Gesichter
hoch-getragenes Rennen
vor drei Jahren heute
ich sehe allen menschlichen Esprit
wölbte die Flut
die Berge sind sie leise Völker
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
gerade jetzt
wer den Regen liebt
kein Opfer sind ich der schlechten Gedanken
wie wie die Sterne dieses Weiß ist, namenlose Gesichter

 



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