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birthday poetry

ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
wenn Freiheit von ihrer Gebirgshöhe
ich liege am Tabellenberg
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
Sie sind schön und verblassen
herauf von den Süden am Bruch des Tages
melancholische Tage sind gekommen
zwei Reihen der Kohlpflanzen
in Ihrem Flug
erklären Sie mir
Schlaf, grauer Bruder des Todes

 



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