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on Jun 5th 2000, 21:36:53, Diesel-User wrote the following aboutmoon |
The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape. The eyes lift after it and find the moon. The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary. Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. How I would like to believe in tenderness! The face of the effigy, gentled by candles, bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes. |
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If »moon« is not at hand, what can one do? Write it down! |
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