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religious poem

Freund, dessen Lächeln gekommen ist zu sein
Melancholie, Blau war sie
Vögel gegen den Aprilwind
ich verachte meine Freunde mehr als Sie
schön
ein sĂĽĂź ernster Gedanke
ich hatte einen Traum und ich wachte mit ihm auf
möglicherweise
gestiegen von den Toten
so verloren
BlĂĽten der Babys
er wird gegangen
vor drei Jahren heute

 



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