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mother poem

ein kleiner Pfirsich im Obstgarten wuchs
Musik I hörte mit Ihnen war mehr als Musik
ich weiß, was Sie sagen werden
in das leise Land
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
zwei Reihen der Kohlpflanzen
oben auslösen, unten fallend
die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
Bruder, bin ich Feuer

 



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