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teen poem

ein Schimmer des Goldes in gloom und Grau
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
Sie sind frei
hören Sie
burly, DösenHumblebiene
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
geheimnisvolle Nacht
wenig Gatter wurde schließlich erreicht
liebe Frau
königliches Fest war erfolgt
so verloren
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
gloom

 



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