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poem for pastors

neben einem geschlagenen Feld
rückwärts drehen Sie sich rückwärts
der Regen sein rüber und die leuchtende Luft
erneuern Sie den Anblick der Freude
der Blitz blitzte und hob an
die Schwärzung rollt aufwärts
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
Sonne und Wind und Schlag von Meer
was wir jetzt tut


 



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