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happy birthday poem

Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
erklären Sie mir
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
ich starrte den prachtvollen Himmel an
er warfen einen Stein, Sie warfen einen Stein
als ich in Ihre Augen schaute
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt

 



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