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father poem

ich weiß, was Sie sagen werden
ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
und noch gingen sie an
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
unter dem Erntemond
erinnern sich Sie
ich bot sie aller Abschied
durch die rude Brücke
meine Seele ist ein dunkles gepflogenes Feld
meine Seele geht in den gorgeous Sachen plattiert
wo ich sollen Sie, finden Sie Sie

 



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