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short poem

drehen Sie nicht Ihren Kopf
ich liebe die alten melodious Lagen
sehen Sie, von dieser Fälschung von ihm
Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern
hören Sie
der Duft kam
zwei Reihen der Kohlpflanzen
lassen Sie uns errichten
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit
wir brechen das Glas dessen sacred Wein

 



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