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happy birthday poem

Glasbläser der Zeit
bleiben Sie nicht mehr
das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
voll von den Rissen
es gibt ein Land voll des Weins
seien Sie, Leben geduldig, wenn Liebe am Gatter ist
wir legen
jene schwarzen Augen I einmal so gepriesen
gloom
ich bete nicht für Frieden
weich als das Bett in der Masse
ich weiß nicht wo

 



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