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teen poetry

liebe Frau
die Luft ist von Dämmerung und Frühling voll
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
ich brenne keinen Duft
geschaukelt in die Aufnahmevorrichtung vom tiefen
es gibt keine Menge, gleichwohl aufgepaßt und geneigt
aller Tag zum Aufpassen der blauen Welle sich zu kräuseln und zu brechen

 



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