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friendship poem

Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
ich wundere mich, wo Sie leben
ich liebe die alten melodious Lagen
über dem Fluß auf dem Hügel
gestiegen von den Toten
neben einem geschlagenen Feld
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
unnachgiebige Vergangenheit des thou
Sitzen in seinem Schalthebel, der Ihren Tee wartet
es gab drei in der Wiese durch den Bach

 



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