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christian poetry

hängen Sie keinen Wreath
seien Sie nicht falsch
wie wild, wie Hexe-wie sonderbares, das das Leben sein sollte
alle jene Schätze, die liegen
meine Mutter unterrichtete mich daß jede Nacht
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
letzter Mitternacht
an der Dämmerung sagte er
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer

 



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