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type of poem

ich liebe mein Leben, aber nicht zu gut
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
hören Sie
Dame, Ihr Herz hat an Staub gewendet
ich wundere mich, wo Sie leben
es gibt ein, das dieses i einmal so sehr liebte
weich als das Bett in der Masse
ich sah mit geöffneten Augen
jenseits schauen
Tochter, thoukunst kommen zu sterben
geheimnisvolle Nacht

 



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