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angel poem

meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
möglicherweise ist es gleichgültig, das Sie starben
vor drei Jahren heute
ich wußte nie, daß die Masse soviel Gold hatte
schön
gegangen vor uns
das traurigste des Jahres
als weiße Kerze
möglicherweise
noch dreizehn Jahre
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
liebe Frau
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais

 



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