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poetry poem

traurig sprechend
meine Seele ist ein dunkles gepflogenes Feld
einige der Hurts, die Sie kuriert haben
alle innen und alle ohne mich
sehen Sie, daĂź ich Ihnen mich gebe
durch die rude BrĂĽcke
unter den Bergen wandered ich
wer den Regen liebt

 



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