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sorry poem

da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
rückwärts drehen Sie sich rückwärts
denken Sie, mein Junge, wenn ich meine Arme um Sie setze
so verloren
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
ich liebe, eine Weile weg zu stehlen
sehen Sie, von dieser Fälschung von ihm
sie konnte ihn im früheren Frühling gekannt haben
schöne, tragical Gesichter


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