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short love poem

es war der Herbst des Jahres
unter dem Erntemond
sie können von der Liebe in einem Häuschen sprechen
ich rüttele mein Haar im Wind des Morgens
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
eine Feder des Stahls
ängstlich nicht mehr, sage ich
alle beruhigen entlang dem potomac
fällt hier kein Licht

 



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