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poetry poem

möglicherweise ist es gleichgültig, das Sie starben
ich bete nicht für Frieden
jetzt für einen lebhaften und freundlichen Kampf
neben es gab nie einen Ton das Holz aber eins
die Schiffe liegen in der Bucht
er spricht nicht gut
ich schleuderte meine Seele zur Luft wie einem Falkefliegen
die einzelne zusammengeprgessene angehobene Faust und bereiten vor
unter dusky Lorbeerblatt

 



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