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daughter poem

liegt hier eine schönste Dame
alle werfen die Jahre nieder
über den Dachspitzen laufen Sie die Schatten der Wolken
Sie sind frei
Geräusche, die sich bemühen heftig zu zerreißen
und noch gingen sie an
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
Sie sind mein Begleiter
traurig sprechend
ich sagte, ich habe geschlossen mein Herz
Material des Mondes

 



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