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baby poem

ich bin der Wind, der wavers
gegangen vor uns
weich als das Bett in der Masse
dunkelstes, merkwürdigstes Geheimnis
die Schwärzung rollt aufwärts
oben auslösen, unten fallend
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
ich fülle diese Schale
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
Nobility des Todes wieder

 



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