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angel poem

da ich der Richtung des Todes geglaubt habe
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
der Duft kam
möglicherweise ist es gleichgültig, das Sie starben
Moonlight tief und zart
über ihnen alle, unten schauend
die Schwärzung rollt aufwärts
ich habe das Rennen gewonnen
weich weinend
die kleinen weißen Gebete
er erklärt von den guten alten Zeiten

 



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