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fall poetry

in einem alten Raum beleuchtete weich
als Meer-Winde unsere Solitudes durchbohrten
Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern
glooms der Lebeneichen
gelebt durch den River-side
in allen Sachen gesprochen nicht von
Schriftsatz auf einer Fliegennacht
gestiegen von den Toten
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
entlang einem River-side
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
einige windigere Tage

 



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