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grandma poem

ich fülle diese Schale
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
weich jetzt das Licht des Tages
weich weinend
seien Sie in mir als die ewigen Stimmungen
gute Frau
ich brenne keinen Duft
ich sah, daß Gott Sie es? bezweifeln
glänzt das letzte Alter, das folgende mit Hoffnung wird gesehen
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit
erklären Sie mir nicht

 



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