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life poem

Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes
wie Adler auf hoher Höhe
schauen Sie zurück mit longing Augen und wissen Sie, daß ich folge
alle innen und alle ohne mich
hören Sie
er erklärt von den guten alten Zeiten
drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf
ich sah ihn einmal vorher
es gibt kein Entweichen durch den Fluß
wenn die Stunden des Tages numeriert werden

 



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