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autumn poetry

hängen Sie keinen Wreath
es gab eine Zeit in den ehemaligen Jahren
er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
alle innen und alle ohne mich
meine Mutter twines mich die Roses, die mit Tau naß sind
ein Himmel, der nie Sonne, Mond oder Sterne gekannt hat
er wird gegangen
Glück

 



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