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memorial poem

ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
in den Wolke-grauen Morgen
und noch gingen sie an
ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
sie limps mit dem Anhalten des schmerzlichen Schrittes
alle werfen die Jahre nieder
ich bot sie aller Abschied
wir legen
es gibt ein, das dieses i einmal so sehr liebte
sie konnte ihn im früheren Frühling gekannt haben
winged Schatten, die vorbei fegen


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