Wir sind ganz angstallein,
haben nur aneinander Halt,
jedes Wort wird wie ein Wald
vor unserm Wandern sein.
Unser Wille ist nur der Wind,
der uns drängt und dreht;
weil wir selber die Sehnsucht sind,
die in Blüten steht.
Rainer Maria Rilke (aus: Mir zur Feier)
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