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short funny poem

ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
wenig Park, den ich durch führe
hören Sie den Regen?
warum so traurig mein reizendes?
der Duft kam
ich hatte den Fall über-vorbereitet
ihr Gesicht ist angemessen und glatt und fein
wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben


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